


Haunted and Damned

by crazynadine, EG Challenge Submissions (6mgs7)



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: #EGChallenge3, #Gallavich Halloween, Anal Sex, Angst, Blood, Boys Kissing, Cancer, Day of the Dead, Drug Use, Emotions, Gay Sex, Halloween, Illness, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Oral Sex, Regret, Resurrection, Reunions, Romance, Running Away, Starting Over, True Love, Vampires, blood-play, clubs, death & dying, dio de los muertos, real talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-09 18:51:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16455404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazynadine/pseuds/crazynadine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/6mgs7/pseuds/EG%20Challenge%20Submissions
Summary: Ian is running out of time. And the time that he does have left, he spends wishing he could be with the one man he can no longer have.





	Haunted and Damned

October 30th, 2018 Mexico City, Mexico

The club is packed. It always is on dia de los muertos. The space is decked out in the fare of the holiday. The walls are adorned with huge oil paintings of skeletons in traditional Mexican dress, wearing crowns of roses. There are gourds and pumpkins lining the floors and flowered garlands and twinkling lights hanging from the ceiling. The entire space is illuminated by what has to be thousands of black candles, adding to the ghoulish ambiance.  There are sugar skulls and butterflies as far as the eye can see, swaying from the ceiling as the house music bumps and the swaying bodies rock the foundation of the ancient structure. And of course, everyone is dressed up. Everywhere he looks he sees another skeleton, a slew of faces painted to honor the dead.

Mickey's not in costume. This is not his tradition, these are not his people.

He's here for another reason tonight.

Mickey leans up against the plush fabric wall of the club, sipping his Jack slowly, his eyes scanning the crowd. He's good at picking out potentials, it's second nature at this point. He makes eye contact with a tall, well-muscled man across the crowd. In the throbbing lights of the club, Mickey raises his eyebrows, tilting his head. The man nods, making his way over.

It's been a little over a year since Mickey crossed into Mexico alone. He's doing better than he expected, if he's being honest with himself. He's got a place to crash, money coming in, and he gets his dick wet on the regular. What else is there for someone like Mickey?

He once thought his life could be different. He was stupid enough to believe that he could have something better. But all that fairy tell bullshit evaporated when Ian walked away from him for the last time.

He won't be that naive again.

He hardly ever thinks about Ian anymore. Well, that's a lie. He tries not to think about Ian, and he's mostly successful these days. He's got a lot going on in his life, and he doesn't have time to dwell on his never ending list of fuck ups and regrets.

When Ian left him hanging at the finish line, Mickey was fucking devastated. He drove that stolen Subaru for hundreds of miles, using Ian's blood money to fuel and endless stream of drugs and booze and sex with random prostitutes along the way. Mickey hardly remembers the first few months he was in Mexico. He's still not entirely sure how he ended up in Mexico City to begin with.

But here he is, and this is his life now. So he takes what he can get and keeps his head down. He hooked up with a kind of shady crew in one of the gay bars the tourists frequent a few months back. They took to him instantly, due to his sexy bad ass attitude, and his experience in the drug trade. The fact that he was fluent in English was a plus, making it easy for him to deal to the tourists in these kind of bars. That's how he found himself here tonight. Of course he'd end up slinging drugs in Mexico. He's not sure why he ever thought he could leave that life behind. It's who he is, it's what he does. Of course he'd gravitate toward the criminal element, they can smell each other a mile away, after all.

The man finally makes his way over to Mickey, his eyes sweeping up and down Mickey's body in the pulsating lights of the club.

"What's up?" Mickey asks, eyeing the man. He's good looking, about six inches taller than Mickey with dark hair and dark eyes. He's not dressed up for the party either, but he is wearing fucking eyeliner and a garland of marigolds around his neck. He doesn't look Hispanic, so Mickey's going to assume he's a tourist. "You speak English?"

"I do, my friend." the man responds, extending his hand. "Lucius."

"Mickey." Mickey replies, shaking the man's hand. "What're you looking for tonight?" he asks, not really in the mood to bullshit. He's got six grams of coke to get rid of before he can leave for the night, and if he sells it all soon, he can go trolling for cock before last call.

"What are you offering?" Lucius asks, voice low. His eyes once again drinking in Mickey's body hungrily as he takes a step closer.

Okay then. Maybe this is a 'two birds, one stone' situation....

Mickey smirks, taking a step closer. "Well, this bar offers all kinds of shit. We've got booze, obviously, there's meth and heroin, some E and DMT. I've got coke, if you're into that simple shit. And there's hookers in the back. I don't turn tricks, so don't even ask." Mickey locked eyes with the alluring stranger. "But if you're down to party, I could be into that." Mickey used to feel weird about flirting like this. It doesn't come naturally to him like it always seemed to with Ian.

Fuck. Ian. No.

But the longer Mickey exists in this new world, surrounded by gay men who never knew Mickey Milkovich of Chicago Illinois, the easier it is for him to put himself out there, take what he wants.

And what he wants tonight is this guy's dick.

Lucius nods, taking another step forward. "I'm into it. I've got a room down the street."

Mickey laughs, tossing back the rest of his drink and setting it on a nearby table. "I gotta sell the rest of this coke before we can go, though."

"How much?" Lucius asks, taking a final step so they are chest to chest. Mickey tilts his head up, staring into his eyes. He licks his lips, biting down on the bottom one when he feels Lucius's hands on his hips.

"About six grams." Mickey shrugs.

"I'll take it." Lucius replies automatically. "All of it."

"You're going to buy six grams of coke?" Mickey balked. "What are you going to with all that?"

"Snort it?" Lucius laughed. "But only if you come to my hotel with me, and help me go through it."

Mickey laughed, shaking his head. "You got three hundred and sixty bucks?"

"I've got a lot more than that." Lucius nodded. "I've got a whole world of shit I'd like to show you, if you'd let me."

Mickey's intrigued, he's not going to lie. "Sure." he shrug, running a hand through his hair. "Money up front, and no fucking rough stuff." he says, following Lucious as he makes his way out of the bar.

"I'm only into the rough stuff." Lucius laughs.

Mickey laughs too, ignoring the chill that runs down his spine at the words.

 

***

 

The hotel room is nicer than Mickey expected. When he goes home with tourists from the bar, which he rarely does, it's usually to a cheap 'Motel 6' type place. Hot businessmen from the states looking for a wild vacation from their wife and kids, or young twinks on spring break swinging through Mexico City one beer-soaked bar at a time.

So this high end suite is not what Mickey anticipated at all.

Lucius cuts out two fat lines of coke, while Mickey pours them each a glass of whiskey. Lucius is already in his underwear, and Mickey had stripped his shirt off, hanging it over a chair by the bed.

"Here." Lucius says, handing Mickey a rolled up American hundred. Mickey nods, placing his glass on the nightstand and leaning over the table, inhaling the powder deeply. He throws his head back, pinching his nose as the drug flows up his nasal cavity and into his blood stream. It hits him like a truck, and he sways where he stands. Mickey hasn't gotten high like this in a month or so, bad for business to dip into the product. But he's on Lucius's dime tonight, so fuck it.

Lucius comes up behind him, hands on Mickey's hips. He squeezed, sliding his hands around to cup Mickey's swelling bulge. "I want to fuck you." he murmurs, nipping at Mickey's shoulder.

Mickey is high as a kite and feeling no pain as he spins around, pulling Lucius to him with a hand on the back of his head.

There is a parade outside. Day of the Dead celebrations running late into the night. Mickey doesn't know much about the holiday, something like Mexican Halloween. The sounds of drums and music and people singing fill the air as Lucius spread Mickey out on the bed, stripping him of the rest of his clothes.

Mickey closes his eyes, letting himself get lost in the feeling of cool, smooth hands on his body, and a hot, wet tongue on his cock.

Time seems to go both fast and slow, and before Mickey knows what's happening, his legs are hoisted high in the air as Lucius moves inside him.

"Ah, fuck." Mickey moans, throwing his head back as Lucius thrusts roughly into him. It's almost painful, but the drugs are blurring the edges a bit, so Mickey just goes along for the ride, gripping the sheets above his head with white knuckles. Lucius makes a strange sound. A high, hissing noise slips past his lips as his movements become faster, more erratic.

"Don't stop." Mickey chokes out, reaching down with a shaking hand to grip his throbbing cock. "I'm gonna come."

"Me too." Lucius growls, collapsing on top of Mickey and sinking his teeth into his neck. Mickey gasps, the pleasure of the pain giving way to actual pain as Lucius's teeth sink further into Mickey's flesh.

Mickey cries out, thrashing as Lucius's grip on his throat tightens. His hands fly up, clawing at Lucius's back, but it does nothing to deter him. Mickey starts slamming his fists into Lucius's head and neck, desperate to dislodge the man's vice-like grip on his throat, all to no avail.  Mickey can feel blood flowing out of his neck and pooling on the bed sheets beneath him, cooling rapidly.

Admittedly too late, Mickey realizes this guy is going to kill him.

It's kind of funny, that after all Mickey's been through, he's going to die like this. Naked, underneath some stranger, with a dick in his ass.

It's not the worst way to go. Better than getting his head bashed in by Terry.

Mickey supposes that's something.

At least it's not Terry.

Mickey's last conscious thought before he gives into the pull of the darkness is of Ian. He'd always thought he'd see him again before he died. Looks like that's not going to happen now. Is it strange, Mickey wonders, to be mourning the loss of someone when you are the one dying?

An image of Ian's smiling face fills his delirious mind, and he thinks if that's the last thing he's going to see before he dies, he's okay with that.

Blackness descends quickly, and the last thing Mickey hears before he falls out is the obscene slurping noises of Lucius draining him of his life's blood.

 

***

 

October 31th, 2019 Chicago Illinois

 

Ian used to love Halloween. Growing up, he loved the idea of being someone else for the night. Someone famous, someone important. Anyone but a poor as shit kid from the south side of Chicago. The candy was a  bonus as a child, treats and snacks he never could have afforded otherwise. As a teen and young adult, the holiday was still a time for Ian to step outside himself. Be it at a costume party or a club, Ian always enjoyed donning some crazy get up and losing himself in the music and the spooky atmosphere of the night. 

But the holiday has lost all it's appeal this year. After the news he got last Halloween, Ian wants nothing to do with any celebration on October 31st.

Ian can remember the moment with brutal, painful clarity. He'd been watching the news in the living room one crisp fall morning before work, coffee cup in one hand, phone in the other, scrolling through messages from Sue regarding planning a night out when a sentence spoken by the news anchor brought his whole world crashing down around him.

'Mikhailio Milkovich, 25, a Chicago fugitive wanted by the FBI, was found dead in Mexico City on Friday October 30th....'

Ian hadn't heard the rest of the segment, his whole world shrinking down to the sound of his heart pounding brutally in his chest and the tears streaming down his face. His coffee cup slipped from his fingers, shattering on impact and sending hot coffee splashing all over him, but he felt nothing. He fell to his knees on the floor, bracing himself on his hands as he wept.

Mickey was dead. Ian would never see him again. Never hear his laugh. Never smell his skin. Never taste his lips. Ever again.

Ian had lost his shit in spectacular fashion after that, spending nineteen days at Cook County Psych, mourning the loss of the only person he ever really loved. Just staring at the wall waiting for his new meds to pull him back from the abyss.

A year has past since then, and instead of things getting easier or better with time, shit just kept getting piled onto top of his grief. Until finally Ian was hit with the piece de resistance, and he realized he was well and truly fucked.

His life was over.

His life was ending.

Ian stretches out on the couch, groaning low in his throat as his back cracks. He feels weak and sickly, but that is nothing new. The doorbell rings and he sighs, struggling to lift himself to a seated position. He finally gets upright and reaches for the orange plastic pumpkin on the coffee table.

He hobbles to his feet, lurching toward the door. He wrenches it open, offering a weak smile to the collection of costumed children on his porch.

"Trick or treat!" they holler in unison.

"Oh!" Ian exclaimed, managing a genuine smile. "Look at you. A soldier, a nurse, and Batman." Ian beams, handing out mini candy bars to the assembled children. He waves as they scamper off, closing the door and sighing again.

That one small trip to the door has wiped him out. He feels a wave of nausea roll over him as he throws himself back down on the couch. He wills his stomach to stop roiling, praying he doesn't puke again.

Ian never expected his life to turn out this way. When he left Mickey at the border a year ago, telling him he had his shit together, he'd meant it. He was scared to throw away all the progress he'd made for a dangerous life on the run. Even though he loved Mickey more than any man he'd ever known, he loved his sanity more. He needed stability, safety. Mickey couldn't give him that on the run from the Feds.

It feels like another life, back then. When his worst worries were Mickey's well being in Mexico, and his crazy stint as a religious leader. Even the short time he spent in jail feels like a fever dream. All of that seems like someone else's life now.

Because Ian is sick.

No, scratch that, Ian is dying.

And Mickey's already dead.

Fuck.

Ian feels tears stinging in his eyes, and crumbles, succumbing immediately to his emotions. What's the use of being strong anymore? It won't fix anything. It won't make his Leukemia go away. It won't bring Mickey back from the dead. It won't make any fucking difference.

So he's going to let go. He's going to cry.

He hangs his head in his hands as  hot tears stream down his face. His breath hitches as he wails out loud. Awful, pitiful whimpers bubble past his lips, all disgusting and snotty. Wretched, hoarse screams wrench out of his throat until he feels like he could cough up blood. He cries and cries until his throat burns and his chest aches. His eyes are swollen shut and a revolting trail of dry snot is crusting under his nose.

But he doesn't give a shit. He only ever allows himself to lose it like this when he's alone at home, determined to keep a brave face for his family.

Ian was diagnosed with Leukemia about six months ago. Acute Myeloid Leukemia. At his age, his chances of survival were decent, or at least that's what the doctors had said in the beginning. The thing is, his body is not responding to chemo, and they can't find a bone marrow donor that is a match for him. None of his siblings match, probably because Frank's not his father.

Thanks Monica.

So Ian is quickly running out of options.

Ian groans, struggling to sit up again. He reaches for his bowl, already packed with high test medical grade weed. Lip gets it for him. He knows his brother feels weak and powerless in the face of Ian's imminent demise, unable to help his little brother. This weed is the only thing Lip can do to help.

And it does help. It eases his nausea, dulls his pain, and helps him escape his head, if only for a moment.

 He brings to bowl to his lips, sparking it and inhaling deeply. He holds the smoke in his lungs as long as he can, letting it out with a sputtering cough. He lays his head back against the cushions, his mind wandering again.

It goes to the same place it always seems to go these days...

Mickey.

When Ian had first come back from the border, he was still certain he'd made the right decision. Ian belonged in Chicago, with his family and his job, and Mickey would only have been slowed down by Ian. Ian with his bipolar and his meds and his mood swings. He would have been a detriment to Mickey's dangerous new life on the run. That's what Ian had told himself over and over for months.

Then, that day almost a year ago to the day, Ian had learned that Mickey had been killed in Mexico City. Fucking exsanguinated by some creep in a hotel room. They found him naked, all the blood drained from his body.

Ian doesn't like to think about how Mickey died, or what he was doing when he was so brutally murdered. Or how it may have been different if Ian were there. Would Mickey still be alive? Or would Ian be dead too? Does it matter now, since Ian is dying anyway?

Ian had been devastated by Mickey's death. He'd fallen into a deep depression for weeks, and honestly, he's not sure he's ever gotten any better. It was the darkest time of his life.

Until now, of course....

When he'd gotten home from the hospital, he'd come home to the even worse news that Mickey's body had disappeared from the fucking morgue on it's way to be processed back to the states. Apparently, as a fugitive, the US government wanted proof that he was dead.

They had never gotten that proof, as Mickey's body had seemingly vanished into the ether.

Ian had been consumed with the details of Mickey's murder, and the subsequent theft of his corpse. What happened to him? Who killed him and why? Did those same people take his body, and why did they want it?

Ian had poured over articles and websites, looking for any scrap of information he could get his hands on. There wasn't much to go on, and Ian was left confused and sad. With no closure to speak of, Ian was left adrift.

And right after that, he got sick.

So now, here Ian sits, in his family home on Halloween, handing out candy while his family is out for the evening. Fiona had taken Liam to a school party. Debbie is out trick or treating with Frannie and Neil. Lip is at an AA meeting, and Carl's at school. So it is just Ian alone with his thoughts and his regrets.

If Ian had known he was going to get sick, he would have gone with Mickey. He would have loved to spend his last days on earth in Mickey's arms on a Mexican beach. The closer Ian gets to his last breath, the more he wants Mickey. It's like a constant ache in his chest that nothing can soothe. He cries constantly. Not over his own mortality, but for the things he lost while he was living.

He could go over and over all the shit he did wrong. All the shit Mickey did to him, all the times they hurt each other or abandoned each other, all the pain they inflicted on each other, but none of that matters now that Mickey's gone and Ian's living on borrowed time.

The irony of the situation is not lost on Ian. The moment he realizes what he had is the moment he can never have it again.

Mickey's dead. And Ian is dying.

It feels like some fucked up, backward gay version of Romeo and Juliet.

Ian barks out a humorless laugh, immediately falling into a body-wracking coughing fit.

Jesus, his life sucks.

Ian lays his head back on the sofa, lifting his feet up so he's on his back staring at the ceiling. He wonders what it will feel like to die, if it's going to hurt, or if it will finally be the end of all the pain he's enduring.

He wonders if he'll see Mickey. Is there an afterlife? Will they be welcome there?  Will Mickey forgive him for leaving him? Will Mickey still love Ian like Ian loves him? Always loved him. Will they finally be able to be together, the way they always wanted to?

Ian smiles, the weight of the weed and a fistful of OC's weighing him down. He closes his eyes as sleep pulls him under, his mind on Mickey, and their grand romantic reunion in the afterlife.

 

****

 

"I watched a change in you

It's like you never had wings

Now you feel so alive

I have watched you change

And you feel alive..."

 

Ian jolts awake, disoriented and confused. How the fuck are the Deftones playing? Did he leave the music on? How long has he been asleep?

He blinks his eyes slowly, moving to sit up. A chill runs up his spine, and his whole body is gripped with fear. He stops, about half way, up on his elbows. His head whips around, causing a wave of nausea to roll through his body. He clutches his stomach, falling back on his back.

 Ian can tell  intuitively, someone's in the house. And Ian's too sick to defend himself.

Fuck.

"Hello?" Ian calls out, angry that his voice is so small, so broken. There was a time not to long ago where he could hold his own in a fight, but tonight is not that night. "We don't have anything. If you're looking to rob us, you came to the wrong house, bro. We don't have shit."

His eyes catch movement behind him by the window, and he moves as fast as he can. He sits up, his head pounding with pressure as he sways in his seat.

There is a man by the window, standing in the shadow cast by the streetlamp outside. He's dressed all in black, that much Ian can tell, which just adds to his creepy-murder vibe.

"Like I'd want anything in this shithole." the man says, and Ian's heart shatters into a million shards.

He knows that voice.

"Mick?" he whispers, voice already choked with tears. He can't breath. He feels dizzy. He brings his hands up to his head, pulling his red hair between his fingers.

This is it. He's lost his mind.

The man takes a step forward, and it's him. It's fucking Mickey.

Mickey moves fast, very fast. He's next to Ian on the couch before Ian can blink. He pries Ian's shaking fingers out of his hair, clasping them between his own tattooed hands.

"Hey Ian." Mickey whispers, taking in Ian's face for the first time in over a year. He's still gorgeous, that would never change in Mickey's eyes. But he's thin, so fucking thin, and paler than Mickey's ever seen him. He's got dark black circles under his eyes, and his hair is brittle and dull.

So it's true. Ian is sick.

"How are you here?" Ian whispers, reaching up to touch Mickey's face. He runs his fingers down his cheek, along his jaw, his thumb playing along Mickey's bottom lip. Mickey nips playfully at the digit, that old sparkle in his blue eyes. "You're dead." Ian sighs, pulling away.

"That's what I heard." Mickey chuckles.

"It's not funny, Mick." Ian replies sadly. "You're dead and I'm dying, which means you're hear to usher me into my death."

"What the fuck?" Mickey laughs, leaning back to get a better look at Ian's face. He's dead serious, that much is clear. From the tears in his eyes to the quivering of his lip, Ian really believes he's seeing a ghost right now. "Do I look fucking dead to you?"

Mickey knew this was risky. Coming here like this. But once he heard that Ian was on death's door, he just couldn't stay away. He had to do something. He had to try.

And there was only one thing he could do, giving his situation.

"You're right. I'm the ghost of Halloween past, come to reap your soul." Mickey laughed, clearing his throat when Ian gave him a death glare. "Okay, I get it, not funny....."

Ian rolled his eyes, throwing his worries aside in favor of doing the one thing he's been dreaming of since he watched Mickey cross the border. If he's dying, or hallucinating, he may as well make the most of it. He surged forward, ignoring the rolling in his stomach in favor of wrapping his arms around Mickey and dragging him close.

Mickey chuckled, smiling as Ian pulled him into a kiss.

This was no hallucination. Ian doesn't know what's going on, but he knows this is Mickey. His Mickey, wrapped in his arms and kissing him hungrily.

God, just to feel Ian's lips again, after all this time. After accepting that he'd never see him again. After he'd made peace with the fact that Ian was lost to him forever.

Fucking heaven. 

Mickey sighed into Ian's mouth, drinking in the taste of the other man's tongue.

Ian's arms tightened around Mickey, so certain that if he let go even a fraction, Mickey would vanish. Mickey's body felt different. His skin is cool to the touch, even in the heat of the house. His muscles were tighter under his smooth skin. Even his lips felt different, softer, like velvet or something.

And his smell, god. He smelled so fucking good. An intoxicating mixture of spices and something earthy that Ian could never name.

It was amazing, but it wasn't the Mickey that Ian remembered.

Something's off.

He pulled back, breathless and a little dizzy. Mickey pulled back too, a curious look on his face.

"What?"

"Mick, what is this? What are you doing here?" Ian asked. He's not sure why he's ruining the moment. Here he is, with Mickey, finally, and he's asking stupid questions that could ruin everything.

But he needs to know. Mickey took a very big risk, coming to Chicago to see Ian. There has to be a reason, and Ian needs to know.

"You're sick." Mickey replies simply.

Ian sighs, his arms tightening around Mickey's body. Mickey's hand comes up and he starts running his fingers through Ian's hair, just like he used to back in the day when Ian was agitated. It works. The knot in Ian's chest loosens just a little and he lets out a slow breath.

"How do you know that?" Ian asked lowly, his eyes darting all over Mickey's face.

"I stay in contact with some people back here." Mickey replied. "Through the work I do back in Mexico, and Mandy of course."

"You talk to Mandy? I haven't seen her in forever."

"Yeah, well, you don't have to see her for her to know your business." Mickey shrugged, pressing their foreheads together. "The golden boy Gallagher dying of cancer is the kind of word that travels."

Ian grimaced, taken aback by Mickey's bluntness. He shouldn't be surprised, of course. Years apart would not change Mickey as a person. It's actually a comfort, Mickey's brutal honesty.

"So what does that have to do with you being here? How are you not dead? They found your body."

"Ian." Mickey sighed, pecking his lips gently. "We can talk about all this shit, but can we do it somewhere else? I've got a room. You wanna go there?"

"A room?" Ian asked, confused. "Like a hotel?"

"No, Ian. I broke into someone's house and commandeered their master bedroom." Mickey said. "Of course a hotel. Do you wanna come or not?" he's not trying to be a dick, but it's not safe for him to be here, and time is of the essence.

Ian sighed. "Mick, I'm really sick. I don't know if I can go anywhere. Especially on the L."

"I've got a car. And I'll take good care of you." Mickey assured him. "I wanna help you Ian. Will you let me try?"

Ian's not sure what Mickey can possibly do to help him, but he knows he's not ready to let him go again. So he nods.

"Yeah, okay." Ian says, moving to stand. "I'm just gonna get dressed real quick."

"Nah." Mickey shook his head, taking in Ian's joggers and old army t shirt. This is his Ian. "I like the sweats." Mickey said, pulling Ian to him again. Ian went easily, falling into the kiss like no time had passed at all.

Ian's head is swimming. He's still not sure this isn't all just a hallucination his mind has concocted to ease him into death. He's been getting sicker by the day, his doctor's prognosis getting more grim with each visit.

But if he's going to die, this is how he wants it to go down. With Mickey. In Mickey's arms.

Mickey takes Ian's hand, pulling him up from the couch. Ian is weak, and a little bit dizzy, and Mickey senses it immediately. His hands shoot out to steady him, one on his arm, and the other on his back.

"Whoa, easy Gallagher." Mickey mumbles, taken aback by how weak Ian was. Ian has always been the strongest person he knows. To see him now, so frail and breakable is disconcerting. "Lemme help."

Ian sighs, hating that Mickey has to see him like this. It's one thing for his siblings to see him so fragile and sickly, but for Mickey to witness it is something else entirely. He's embarrassed and angry. This is the reunion he's been dreaming about for two years, and Mickey has to help him walk. It's as infuriating as it is embarrassing.

Mickey closes the door behind them and helps Ian down the stairs. Ian looks up when they get to the sidewalk, surprised to see a fucking Lexus parked in front of his house.

"Mick." Ian whispers, turning to face him. "What the fuck is a Lexus LS doing in front of my house? Did you steal this?"

Mickey chuckled, dodging a couple shrieking trick or treaters as they darted down the sidewalk. "Hey! Watch it!" he hollered after them, gripping Ian's arms tighter as the hooligans hustled by. "No, I didn't steal it. I told you, I'll explain all this shit once we get you to the hotel. Okay?" he hit the key fob, and after a series of digital beeps, he swung the passenger door open.

Ian nodded, too tired to argue anymore. He let Mickey fold him into the passenger seat, closing the door behind him before running around to the driver's side and slipping inside.

He turned the engine over and the car roared to life. He turned onto the deserted street without bothering to use his directional, and soon they were weaving through the dark Chicago streets. They drive for about twenty minutes. There is little traffic, and Ian spends the ride watching Mickey drive. He still can't believe that he's here right now. That they are together again. It feels like some strange kind of fever dream, and if it is, he never wants to wake up.

Mickey reaches out with his hand, flicking the radio on. Stone Temple Pilots fills the car as Mickey reaches down slowly and laces his fingers with Ian's. Even his hands are bony. How that's possible, Mickey has no idea. All he does know is that he needs to do something about it. He needs to make Ian better.

He only hopes Ian will let him.

Ian glances down at their clasped hands, his mind reeling as he rubs his thumb against Mickey's tattooed knuckles. He's overwhelmed by the bittersweet irony of this moment. Here he is, dying more each moment, and yet he feels more alive than he has in years. He can feel the sting of tears in his eyes once more, but he swallows them down.

Mickey pulls the car over and throws it in park, glancing over at Ian. He's got tears welling up in his eyes, and it breaks Mickey's heart. He clears his throat, turning off the car and exiting onto the street without another word. He makes his way around to the passenger side just as the valet ambles over.

Mickey opens Ian's door and helps him out, ignoring the glare Ian is shooting him at the babying.

"Good evening sir." the valet says.

"Yeah, hi." Mickey mutters, still uncomfortable with these kinds of exchanges. "It's a rental, so don't get any weird ideas. Let me grab my bag from the trunk and you can park it or whatever."

The man nods, taking the keys from Mickey after he pops the trunk, and handing him a valet ticket. Mickey pockets the ticket before grabbing his bag out of the trunk. It's light, he doesn't need too much on trips like this. He slams the trunk and the valet is speeding toward the garage before Mickey can even step back onto the sidewalk.

"Jesus, good thing I don't own that car, I'd have to kick that prick's ass for grinding the gears."

Ian chuckled lowly, indescribably please by Mickey's snark. It feels like old times, before anything happened to tear them apart.

"C'mon man, we got shit to do." Mickey says, pulling Ian toward the door. Ian's movements are slow and stilted, and he feels ridiculously under dressed in his sweats and ratty hoodie as he follows Mickey into the boutique hotel. He wonders again how Mickey is affording all this shit. The lobby is not huge, but it is impeccably furnished and immaculate. There are business type people milling about, some sitting on stuffed sofas with drink in their hands from the adjacent bar. There is a small crystal chandelier hanging from the center of the vaulted ceiling, and expensive looking art hanging from the walls, encased in ornate mahogany frames.

Mickey strides toward the front desk with purpose, his duffel bag hanging in a loose fist at his side.

"Hello sir, welcome to the Gwen, my name is Sierra. Do you have a reservation with us tonight?"

"Uh, yeah." Mickey nodded, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a worn black leather wallet. He slid two cards out of the fold and pressed them to the desk, sliding them over to the waiting woman. "Thomas Anderson."

Ian raised his eyebrows skeptically, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

Sierra took Mickey's ID and his credit card, placing them in front of her keyboard as she typed quickly and efficiently. "Yes. Here you are." she smiled, passing Mickey's cards back to him before handing him a small white envelope. "You will be staying in one of our junior suites with a terrace. My personal favorite. Room 509. Take the elevator up to the fifth floor, and follow the signs down the right hand hallway."

Mickey nodded, pocketing the envelope and stepping away from the counter. "Thanks." he muttered, turning on his heel and heading toward the elevator bank at the back of the lobby. Ian had to struggle to keep up with him. Either he is much sicker today than he thought, or Mickey moves oddly fast these days.

The elevator moves so quickly that Ian's stomach drops a bit. He leans up against the dark wood wall of the lift, eyes closed to ward off the nausea.

"Mr. Anderson, huh?" Ian asked quietly. "Bet no one but me knows you stole that from 'The Matrix.' "

"Shut the fuck up." Mickey laughed, not at all surprised that Ian of all people would figure that out. They'd watched that stolen DVD at least a hundred times. " Perfect alias. It just works on so many levels."

"Sure it does." Ian chuckled.

They don't say anything else as they make their way to the room. For such a posh hotel, Ian is surprised to find a little Halloween fare gracing the hallways. Ornate crystal pumpkins, some Gothic looking candelabras and what looks like hand blown glass spiders.

Mickey leads them to their room, using the key card to open the door and letting Ian hobble in first.

The room is huge. Bigger than any Ian had ever stayed in with any of his old sugar daddies.

The memory leaves a sour taste in Ian's mouth, as it does whenever he thinks about it these days. Now that he knows his days are numbered, he finds himself wishing he'd made different choices.

Looking at Mickey, that fact has never been more clear.

Mickey lays his bag in an upholstered arm chair before crossing the room and sitting on the bed. He kicks his shoes off immediately before stripping his jacket and loosening his tie.

"I can't remember the last time I saw you this dressed up." Ian muses, moving to join Mickey on the bed.

"My wedding, maybe? Or my final sentencing." Mickey shrugs, but grimaces almost immediately.

Ian didn't go to Mickey sentencing. No one did. He stood there, before the judge in his cheap ass suit, throwing himself on the mercy of the court, without a single person in the gallery to speak to his character.

"Never mind." Mickey muttered lowly.

"Mick, I'm so..." Ian starts, turning to face Mickey fully. But before he can form the words, Mickey throws a placating hand up.

"No, Ian. We're not here for that tonight." Mickey said softly. His hand was moving before he knew what he was doing, carding his fingers through that red hair he's loved forever now. It was thinner than he remembered, and he could feel the bony protrusion of Ian's skull under his roaming fingers. "We're here to talk about you. Tell me what's going on."

Ian is confused. So fucking confused. There are things he needs to KNOW. Like how the fuck is Mickey here right now? How is he not dead? How is he roaming the streets of Chicago on Halloween night like a fucking ghost?

But Ian supposes if he's going to get answers, he's going to have to give some.

He sighs. He hates talking about this shit. There's really no point. It won't change anything, and it only serves to depress him further.

But this is Mickey. And if he wants to know, Ian's going to tell him.

"I got sick about six months ago." Ian sighed, throwing himself down on the plush bed. His back his the comforter and he smiles. Shit was comfortable. He glance over at Mickey, sitting much too far away. He held out his hand and wiggled his fingers. Mickey got the hint, twinging their hands together and laying down next to him. They faced each other on their sides, Mickey waiting patiently for Ian to continue. "Stupid, small shit... Like I was always cold, always. Running fevers of 102 for no good reason. Then I was so fucking tired. I'd go to work, get home by three, and be dead asleep by four. I wouldn't open my eyes again 'til morning. Fiona thought it was a downswing, but I felt balanced. I wasn't depressed, I was just so damn tired. I was getting these bruises, all over my body, that wouldn't heal. Like from stupid shit like leaning against the counter." he lifted his shirt, and Mickey's eyes bugged out of his head at the sight of black splotchy bruises littering Ian's abdomen and side.

"Jesus, Ian." Mickey whispered, his fingers tracing the dark outlines of the bruises.

Ian just shrugged.

 "Then I was just shedding weight. Couldn't keep it on to save my life."

"I noticed you're looking a little gaunt these days." Mickey said soberly, reaching out to run his tattooed fingers along Ian's protruding collar bone. Ian huffed out a tired laugh, swatting his hand away halfheartedly.

"But the thing that got me to finally go in and see a doctor was the nosebleeds." Ian said with a shudder. "I'd be sitting in the bus at work, or at the kitchen table fucking around on my phone, and blood would just start pouring out of my nose. No reason, no nothing. And I couldn't get it to stop, y'know. Finally, one time after it had been bleeding steadily for almost an hour, I went to the hospital, covered in blood like some damsel from a horror movie. The doctors ran a shit ton of tests. All I could think about was the bill, right? I mean, I may be sick, but I'm still south side."

Mickey nodded, but said nothing. He scooted closer to Ian so their faces were mere inches apart.

"They told me I've got leukemia." Ian finally said. The words had a grim finality to them. Ian hardly ever said them out loud. "It usually has a pretty good remission rate, but nothing has ever been easy for me, so of course, no treatment is working. Chemo was a bust, I can't find a bone marrow donor. No one is a match. Everyone got tested, but I guess I've got some super rare shit going on. Like being bipolar didn't set me apart enough" Ian sighed, his whole body deflating. "The last time I saw the doctor, he told me I have about six months, give or take."

He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the look on Mickey face. He knew, of course, without having to look. Mickey would look just like everyone else. He'd be giving Ian this sorrowful, pitying glance. Ian hated that look from anyone.

But from Mickey it would be infinitely worse.

"Fuck." Mickey sighed, and Ian clenched his eyes tighter against the tears that were threatening to spill again. Ian feels the callused pads of Mickey's fingers as the other man cups the back of his neck, pulling Ian into a tight hug. Ian wraps his arms around Mickey's body, feeling more at home than he has in years. Mickey runs his fingers through Ian's thin, brittle hair, remembering how it always soothed him when he was upset.

"Mick." Ian mumbles after a long moment of them just holding each other. "What are you really doing here? I know you didn't risk your freedom and your life just to see me before I die"

Mickey pulls back, already glaring when they lock eyes. "And why the fuck not? You think I don't give a shit all of the sudden just because you bailed on me? When has that ever kept me away? I'm an idiot, I know, but I'm a loyal one."

Ian grimaced, turning away. He's caused Mickey so much pain over the years, he just can't fathom how the man would have any love left for him.

Mickey pulls away from Ian, patting him once on the cheek before extracting himself completely and walking over to the minibar. "I'm assuming you can't drink." he calls over his shoulder as he mixes himself a whiskey and water.

"Shouldn't." Ian shrugs, struggling to sit up against the pillows. Jesus, his whole body just aches. "But what fucking difference does it make now?"

Mickey nods silently as he mixes another drink. He sits back on the bed, handing one of the glasses to Ian.

"Okay, Mick." Ian says, taking a sip from his glass. It burns going down. Mickey always mixed strong drinks. Ian's grateful for the booze now, unsure if he wants to ask this next question. He swallows, staring into his glass when he speaks again. "You heard my sob story, now start talking. How are you here? Why are you really here? There is nothing you can do here but watch me slowly die, and get yourself locked up again. Not that I'm not happy to see you." Ian smiled, his eyes scanning Mickey's face. "Cuz I am. So fucking happy. But still..."

Mickey sighs, chugging the rest of his drink and setting the empty glass on the nightstand. He's going to need the buzz to get through this story.

That's if Ian will even hear him out after the first few sentences leave his mouth.

"Okay, so, after we, um, parted ways at the border, I was kind of a mess." he starts. He glances over at Ian and can already see the start of fresh tears in his eyes. He looks away. If he has to watch Ian crying the whole time, he'll never get through this story. "I ended up in Mexico City. It was touch and go there for a while, I was committing a lot of petty crimes to get by, but I ended up hooking up with the crew of, I don't know, gangsters? I guess. But not really, cuz they were this weird group of thuggish twinks. Like, sparkly shirts and super tight jeans with Berettas tucked into their waistbands. It was a bit ridiculous. Like, brutal remorseless drug dealers, but all super faggy. How weird is that?" he looked up, hoping to get at least a smile from Ian. No dice. He looked twice as stricken. Mickey grimaced, training his eyes back on the elaborate carpet as he spoke. "Anyway, they kind of took me in. It was easy work, cuz it was mostly tourists, and I speak English. I've been dealing drugs since I was eleven, so it was pretty much second nature. We worked the gay clubs that tourists frequent. I made bank." Mickey tried to catch Ian's eyes, but the other man was staring across the room, eyes fixed on a non-existent point in the middle distance. "So, uh, well, around this time last year, Day of the Dead, have you heard of it?" he waited for some acknowledgment from Ian, continuing on when he got a small nod. "So, it's like a huge deal down there, and a lot of tourists come down to celebate it. I was working in this club the gang owned, Luna Negra. Pretty popular fag club down there. The place was fucking hopping, hot dudes as far as the eye could see." Mickey paused when he saw Ian grimace again, but what did he expect? Was Mickey supposed to be celebate for the rest of his life after Ian ditched him? He shook his head instead of calling him out on it, continuing his story. " I was there selling coke. I had about six grams left to get rid of before I could call it a night. This guy approached me, so I started up my usual sales pitch. He tells me he'll buy it all if I'll do it with him. I was kinda reckless back then, so I followed him back to his hotel room. Long story short, we got pretty fucking high, and we were screwing or whatever, when the prick fucking bit me."

Ian did look up then. His eyes were wide, his mouth twitching like he wanted to ask something, but had no idea what.

Mickey ran a hand down his mouth, then through his hair, shaking his head ruefully. "Motherfucker killed me."

Ian looked like he was going to throw up. Mickey laid a hand on him, trying to comfort him. His fingers dug into his bony shoulder. "You sure you wanna hear this, man?"

Ian nodded, but said nothing, averting his eyes once more.

"Yeah, so, he bit my neck, like real fucking hard, dug his teeth in until he split me wide open. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't scream..." Mickey stopped abruptly, clearing his throat and looking away for a moment before collecting himself.  "I was bleeding all over the place. I don't remember anything else from that night. I woke up a few days later in a fucking refrigerated cabinet in the fucking morgue.

"You were dead." Ian whispered, disbelieving. "It was in all the papers. You were dead, and a couple days before the Feds could pick up your body, it disappeared. No one knew what happened." Ian was openly crying now. Fat tears were streaming down his red face as his lip quivered. "I lost my shit. Had to be hospitalized."

"I heard. Sorry about that, I mean, I would have called to let you know I was okay, but I wasn't sure you'd care. Kinda hard to believe you falling off the deep end would have anything to do with me, after the way we left it." Mickey said quietly. He locked eyes with a stricken Ian before glossing over the moment and getting back on track. "But the thing is, it gets weirder. When I woke up, I was trapped in the cooler thingy. I was kicking the door, but there's not a lot of room in those things. Claustrophobic as fuck, let me tell you. So, I'm kicking and screaming, thinking I'm gonna suffocate, die a second time, however that's possible. But then the door swings open and fucking Lucius is standing on the other side."

"Lucius?" Ian parrots back hollowly.

"The guy who killed me." Mickey replies succinctly. "And the guy that brought me back."

"What?" Ian asks, growing more confused by the second. "How?"

"Lucius is a vampire, Ian." Mickey says slowly, glancing over at Ian just in time to watch the unmasked horror wash over his face. "And now, so am I."

 

***

 

Ian isn't sure what happened. One minute he's listening to Mickey spin this incredibly unbelievable horror story, and the next he's flat on his back, staring at the ceiling of the hotel room, Mickey hovering at his side with a worried look on his face.

"Ian? Ian!" Mickey yells, snapping his fingers in front of Ian's unseeing eyes. "Ian, come on man."

Ian turns his head, locking eyes with Mickey. Mickey has this soft, worried expression on his face that doesn't jive at all with what he's just told Ian.

Ian's not one to believe in fairy tales, or ghost stories, or old wives tales. He knows Mickey, and he's not the type of guy to make shit like this up, especially with Ian in such a weak and vulnerable state.

Ian can't figure out what Mickey would get out of trying to convince Ian that he is one of the soulless undead.

What the fuck is happening here?

"Jesus, Ian. You scared the shit outta me." Mickey sighed, reaching out to run his fingers through his hair. His brow furrow when Ian flinches away. "What? You think I'm going to hurt you? Me? Come the fuck on... You just passed out. You're sick as shit. Why would I add to that?"

"Are you here to kill me? To get even for all the shit I did to you? Cuz if that's what you want, just wait a few more months." Ian mutters lowly, still watching Mickey warily.

Mickey scoffed, huffing out an incredulous laugh. "Seriously? That's the best you can come up with in that addled brain of yours? You're a fucking lunatic, Gallagher."

Ian just waits. He knows there is a reason for this bizarre visit, and Mickey has yet to be honest with him.

Mickey huffs, rolling his eyes. He grabs Ian's wrist, pulling him up off the floor and depositing him back onto the bed. Ian allows himself to be contorted and manipulated until he's on his back with Mickey hovering over him.

"I know all this sounds crazy as fuck, but you gotta believe me, Ian. I came back from the dead, and now I'm a vampire. I drink blood to survive. Hardly anything can kill me. I haven't aged a day since I took my last breath."

"Mick, what does that mean?" Ian asked, still profoundly confused. "Why are you telling me?"

"I wanna help you, Ian." Mickey says quietly, stroking the side of his face gently. "Let me change you. You won't die from this bullshit cancer. You won't die at all. Let me make you better."

Ian's whole body went cold instantly. Goose bumps broke out on the expanse of his skin and his throat closed up. His eyes went wide, and he could feel the prickle of tears yet again.

What the fuck was this bullshit? There is no way in hell Mickey is really here with him. Really a fucking vampire.

Really willing to still save Ian.

Is that saving? Jesus.

"I think I need another drink." Ian muttered lowly. Mickey's reaction was immediate. He jumped up off the bed and made his way over to the minibar, mixing Ian another drink that was mostly just whiskey, with a splash of water. He handed Ian the glass and sat next to his prone form on the bed.

Ian sat up just enough to down the entire glass, passing it back to Mickey once it was empty and falling back down on his back.

They sat in silence for some time. Ian staring at the ceiling, Mickey watching Ian. Mickey lit up a cigarette and waited, not wanting to push. Ian sighed, finally looking over at the man hovering above him.

"What's it like?" Ian finally asks, running a shaky hand over his mouth. "I can't even believe I'm saying this... What's it like to be a vampire? Cuz I don't know if I want to live if it means I have to spend all eternity killing people."

Mickey chuckled, scooting closer to Ian on the bed. "You don't HAVE to kill anyone, Ian. I mean, I'm not an expert, I've only been this way for a short time in the grand scheme of things. I can only tell you how I live, since Lucius and I don't hang out anymore."

"Really?" Ian asks, eyeing Mickey curiously. "What happened? Don't new vampires like, belong to their makers?"

"Um, no." Mickey chuckled, shaking his head. "It's just like any other disease, I guess. Like herpes or the clap."

Ian grimaced at the comparison, shaking his head. "What?"

Mickey sighed. He's shit at explaining this stuff. "Like, you meet someone, you hook up, they give you something. Sometimes that's the end of it, you go your separate ways, and deal with your new diagnosis on your own. But sometimes, you grow closer together, despite the fact that they infected you. Hell, with this shit, some people beg to be infected. That Twilight shit turned everyone into a bunch of blood sucker groupies. Sparkly-ass fags, gimme a break."

Ian shook his head at the absurdity of the moment. "So what happened with him? The man that did this to you?"

"Lucius?" Mickey asked, glancing away. " He's still out there somewhere, I'm sure. I just don't know where. We didn't see eye to eye on a lot of things." he shrugged, taking a drag off his cigarette. "He was looking for a hot piece of ass that thrived on the violence of it all. Someone to travel the world with, leaving a trail of bodies in their wake. I'm a lot of things, Ian, but I don't want to be an undead mass murderer." he shook his head, trying to rid himself of the dark memories of his short time with Lucius. "So I packed my shit and headed out on my own. It was fucking weird at first, but I think I got the hang of it now. Enough to show you the ropes, if you want."

Ian sighed, unsure of what to say. This was all so unreal, he felt like he was slipping into a manic psychosis. He took a deep breath, holding it as he counted to ten in his head, letting it out slowly.

He glanced over at Mickey, who had this uncertain look on his face. Like any moment Ian would decide that this was too much, and run screaming from the room.

Ian didn't want him to feel that way. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around Mickey's wrist, pulling him down into the bed with him. Mickey came easily, tucking his head into Ian's shoulder and cuddling close as Ian wrapped an arm around his torso.

It felt like no time had passed at all, like there was no clock ticking on them, and they had all the time in the world to just be.

Ian liked it. He'd missed this so much. He never felt more at ease or more himself than he did when he was wrapped up in Mickey like this. He never wanted it to end.

And now, maybe it wouldn't have to.

"Tell me what it's like." Ian finally says, turning slightly so their faces are mere inches apart. "What would our life be like?"

Mickey's face morphed into the picture of relief as his body slumped entirely against Ian's. He took a deep breath, inhaling Ian's scent. It had changed a bit, or maybe it was Mickey that had changed. Everyone and everything was different after the change. But even if his instincts were sharper now, and the notes of Ian's scent were stronger and more pronounced, at the core he was still Ian.

And still Mickey's.

"Well, we'd probably have to go back to Mexico, since that's where my base of operation is these days."

"We'd end up in Mexico after all." Ian mused, reaching up to run his thin fingers through Mickey's dark hair. "How ironic."

"Yeah, I guess it is." Mickey chuckled, nodding against Ian's shoulder. "There are a handful of people down there like me. We look out for each other. But I'm warning you right now, it's not like we are upstanding citizens. I still rob people, Ian. That's how we make money. We may be technically be the Undead, but we still need a place to sleep and clothes and all that mundane shit."

Ian nodded. He understood that. It's not like he was a stranger to petty larceny or any other manner of survival crimes.

"And we need to drink, obviously. Are you going to be okay with that?" Mickey asked quietly. Ian is south side, just like Mickey, but he was never as mired in violence and death as Mickey was. Mickey did his best to not kill the people he drank from, but accidents happen. Mickey's not so sure Ian would be able to live with himself if that happened.

"I mean, you said you don't kill, so how does it work?" Ian asked, his fingers trailing up and down the arm Mickey had wrapped around his middle.

"Well, you know, it's easier than you would think. I usually pick up my marks at the club. There's bars everywhere down there, and people are wasted. Their inhibitions are down and it's easy to get them to come home with you. I take what I need and they wake up in a back alley somewhere, none the wiser." Mickey was glossing over the darker, dirtier parts of feeding. He would teach Ian that shit if and when the time came.

"So you rob them?" Ian asked, trying to picture the act in his mind. He didn't know if he was scared or intrigued. It was a strange feeling. 

"Yeah, I guess." Mickey shrugged as best he could, plastered up against Ian. "But larceny of O negative is not a crime, per say. Besides, it's not like they even remember."

"Why not?" Ian asked, curious.

"I don't know how to explain it. It almost feels like a super power sometimes. Like, people flock to me now, like I entice them or something? The way I look, or the way I smell, who knows, it draws them in. It's easy to convince people to do what I want. Almost like mind control, I don't know. Like, I walk up to a guy, tell him to follow me. He does. I tell him to give me  his wallet, he does, no resistance, no fight. I tell him to tilt his head to the side to I can bite him, he does. Once I'm done, I tell him to forget we ever met, and I never see him again. No one's come looking for me, I'm not on any wanted posters for robbery or assault. It's the most bizarre shit, but it's all true. Lucius used to say we were the world's most evolved predators, that we had all these special skills and powers to aid us in our pursuit of food. But I'm not into the hunt like he was. He got off on it. Killing or whatever. To me, the blood is just a means to an end."

"This is a lot to take in." Ian muttered, tightening his arm around Mickey.

"I know, and I'm sorry." Mickey replied lowly. "But I mean, is it worse than finding out you were dying?"

Ian thought about it for a minute, then shook his head. "No." Ian doesn't think anything could ever shock him as much as that news had. He'd been rocked to his very core. "You know, when I got the news, you were the first thing I thought of." Ian admitted quietly. "I was wondering if I'd get to see you, you know, on the other side or whatever." it sounded so dumb, saying that shit out loud. He almost wished he could take it back.

"I get that." Mickey replied, running his fingers along the waistband of Ian's sweats. "When I was bleeding out that night, you were my last thought before everything went dark."

"I was?" Ian asked, astonished. After everything that had happened, it was so unbelievable that Mickey still cared this much. That after the way they had ended things, after what Ian put him through, that Mickey would still think of Ian with his last breath.

Ian could feel the sting of tears in his eyes once more, but he swallowed them down. Now is not the time for shit like that.

"Tell me what it's like then." he said instead. "If I let you do this, what would my life be like? Like, how are you drinking booze right now? How are you smoking? Do you eat regular food still? Can you go out in sunlight? Do you sleep in a coffin? Do crucifixes burn you? What about holy water?" Ian rattled off every vampire related question that popped into his mind, spitting them out of his mouth as fast as his brain could supply them, not giving Mickey an opportunity to respond.

"Hey, hey." Mickey murmured quietly, reaching over and placing a hand on the back of Ian's neck. "Relax, Gallagher. One question at a time, okay?"

"Yeah, sure." Ian nodded, pulling himself back from the edge of a meltdown. "Sorry."

"Nah, it's cool. Like I said, I know, it's a lot." Mickey sighed. How does he explain this shit, when he doesn't know a lot of the answers himself?

"So, like I said, I think of it as a kind of virus. I don't think I'm possessed or a demon or any other matter of religious bullshit. It's kinda like a supernatural version of rabies, y'know. And yeah, I can still eat shit like steak or cupcakes, but they don't taste the same. Shit's just not as appealing as it used to be. And yeah, I can still get drunk, but it takes a hell of a lot more booze to fuck me up. Same goes with drugs. There's a lot of drugs down there, that's another way I make money, just so you know. I still run with that crew of gang banger fags." Mickey chuckled as the words past his lips. "I think you'd like them."

"Are they...." Ian trailed off significantly.

"What? Are they vampires?" Mickey finished his thought. Ian nodded slowly, his head rubbing against Mickey's with the motion. "Nah." Mickey said resting his head on Ian's chest. "Just a bunch of gay dudes with guns that think they can take what they want. I hooked up with them before all this shit happened. They don't know about me being, you know, this." he finished awkwardly. "I have a small, separate crew of other vampires I hang out with from time to time, but we are not like, some fang banger gang." Mickey chuckled, waggling his eyebrows.

Ian just rolled his eyes.

"So, if I went down there with you, we'd be running with a crew of queer thieves, random other vampires, and drinking blood to survive." Ian said slowly.

"Yeah, Ian. Pretty much. But you'd be alive, kind of. And we'd be together. We could finally see the ocean together. You'd love it. Shit's fucking indescribable."

"So we can go out in daylight?" Ian asked, still clearly confused.

"Are you listening?" Mickey chuckled. "None of that Anne Rice, Dracula shit is real. I spend a shit ton of time in the sun, even if I never tan."

"So, let me get this straight." Ian said, pulling back slightly so he could look into Mickey's icy blue eyes. Those hadn't changed at all. Even if Mickey was something else entirely now, his eyes, and they way he looked at Ian was exactly the same as it had always been. "Everything else is exactly the same, except you drink blood for nourishment, and you don't die? That's really the only difference?" There had to be more. The whole thing felt incomplete and shady.

"Oh!" Mickey said, rolling over excitedly until he was perched astride of a very confused Ian. "There's one more thing." he leaned down until his face was mere inches from Ian's. Ian stared up at him, wide eyed, as he waited for Mickey to drop his next bomb. "You don't get sick. And if you were sick, that shit goes the fuck away." Mickey beamed at Ian gleefully, yet Ian remained in the dark.

"Mick, what does that mean?" he asked slowly. "Like, my cancer would disappear?" the idea that he could be cancer free, no matter the cause, was tempting beyond belief. To have the chance to live more, the thought took Ian's breath away. "Really?"

"Yeah, Ian, really." Mickey nodded, his face softening as his eyes raked over Ian's stunned face. "But not just that. I know a girl down there, Maya. She's another of Lucious' proteges. He made her too, left her too. We hang out sometimes. But Ian, when she was human, she was schizophrenic."

Ian's eyes went wide as the implications of what Mickey was saying finally hit home. "And now?" he whispered, on pins and needles.

"And now she's the sanest person I know." Mickey replied, a bright smile splitting his lips. "Ian, she was cured of her illness by this virus. She's one of the coolest, most normal people I've ever met. When she tells me about how she was before the change, it's like she's speaking about a totally different person."

Ian's whole body was trembling. A cold chill ran down his spine at the implications of Mickey's words.

It couldn't be.

There's no way.

"Are you saying that this shit could cure my Bipolar disorder?" he asked quietly, unable to wrap his mind around it.

"Yeah, Ian." Mickey nodded soberly, reaching over and running his fingers down Ian's cheek, resting it gently on his neck while they just stared at each other. "I'm saying, if you decide to do this, none of that shit will exist for you anymore. The mania, the depression, the fucking cancer. It'll all be just a bad memory."

Ian's head was spinning. How the hell was he supposed to process all this? How could any of this be true?

A knock on the door pulled Ian out of his head. He glanced over at Mickey who was giving him an apologetic look.

"Shit." he says tersely, jumping off the bed and lurching toward the door. "I ordered room service, and the assholes must have gotten the times mixed up. They're not supposed to be here yet."

Ian struggled to sit up in the bed, leaning his tired body against the headboard as Mickey went to answer the door.

"Don't be pissed." Mickey said ominously over his shoulder as he opened the door.

Ian was expecting hotel staff with a tray of overpriced entrees.

That is not at all what he saw.

The kid was young, that's the first thing Ian noticed. He was tall, taller than Mickey, but still shorter than Ian. He had blond hair flowing around his ears, and dull grey eyes. He was attractive, but not Ian's type at all.  He was wearing a ridiculous looking outfit. Black leather pants, black sequin tank top, plush red devil horns on top of his head, and an equally cringe-worthy red tail sprouting from his ass. He smirked at Mickey as he sauntered into the room, swaying his hips.

"Hey baby, happy Halloween." the kid purred, stepping closer to Mickey and running a hand down his chest. "My name's Luke. You were looking for a little company tonight?"

Mickey cleared his throat, taking a small step back. Luke the hooker's eyes traveled from Mickey to the bed, where he finally laid eyes on Ian. He was just laying there in the bed, flabbergasted, looking like death warmed over.

"Um, I don't recall this being a threesome when you booked me." Luke said warily. "And he don't look so good." he sniffed, casting another wary glance in Ian's direction.

Ian scoffed, clearly irritated. What the hell is this shit? Mickey says all this shit about wanting to help Ian, wanting to save his fucking life, and then goes and hires a hooker for the same night they are together?

"Hey, shut the fuck up." Mickey barked at the hooker, stepping close again. "Don't worry about him, you're here for me. Keep your mouth shut about him."

Ian rolled his eyes at the knight in shining armor shit. "Mick, are you really going to make me watch this shit? What the hell? It couldn't wait until I'd gone back home. I don't want to see this."

"Ian, you're going to want to watch this. You need to know." Mickey replied ambiguously.

The pieces fell into place slowly, and Ian realized belatedly that Mickey was going to feed on this kid.

Shit. Fuck.

"Yeah, you can watch." Luke said magnanimously. "I can get into that kinky shit." Emboldened by Mickey's words, he took another step forward. "How d'you wanna do this, big boy?" he asked, running both hands along Mickey's chest.

"Sit on the bed." Mickey replied tersely. "Take your shirt off."

Luke did as he was told, smirking at Ian as he sat on the bed next to him. He pulled his sparkly tank top off and dropped it to the floor, kicking his feet as he waited for Mickey to come to him.

Ian watched with rapt attention as Mickey advanced on the unsuspecting hooker. He stalked across the room until he was right in front of the boy. (he was really just a kid, nineteen at the most)

Ian had a horrifying thought just a little too late.

He hopes he's not about to watch this kid die.

"Look at me." Mickey said lowly. Luke's head snapped up like it was attached to some kind of lever. "Good." Mickey murmured quietly. "That's good."

"Yeah." Luke replied, dazed. "Good."

Ian wondered idly if this was that mind control shit Mickey had told him about, of if this was just a hooker doing what his john said.

"Tilt your head a little. Lemme see that neck." Mickey said lowly, grinning when the boy did as told. "Yeah, just like that."

Ian was stuck. He couldn't look away. Not when Mickey placed a hand on the back of the hooker's neck. Not when Mickey dipped his head down and attached his lips to the kid's jugular vein. Not when Luke's eyes closed and a bizarre mixture between a moan and a whimper passed the kid's lips. Not when Luke's hand flew up and buried itself in Mickey's hair. Not when Mickey gripped the kid around the middle and dragged him off the bed to straddle him on the floor, taking his fill from the poor kid's neck while Luke moaned like a porn star the entire time.

It wasn't violent or even bloody. Not like in the movies at all. It just kind of looked like Mickey was giving the kid an aggressive hickey.

It felt like it went on forever, but it was only a moment in reality. Soon Mickey was sitting up, still straddling the hooker. He wiped an errant drop of blood from his lips with the back of his hand before standing. He reached down and helped a dazed Luke to his feet.

Ian looked the hooker over. If he didn't watch the scene unfold with his own eyes, he never would have guessed what had just happened. The kid had a pretty serious bruise on his neck, but there was no way to tell what it was from. A single trail of blood seeping from the wound. Luke swayed on his feet and Mickey grabbed him by the shoulders, steadying him.

"Did you come?" Luke slurred, smiling. Mickey handed the kid his shirt and he pulled it clumsily over his head. He dropped into a chair by the bed, landing like a ton of bricks, his legs splayed out in front of him.

"I got what I needed." Mickey chuckled, his eyes drifting to Ian to gauge his reaction. Ian was still a little shocked at the whole scene, but didn't look scared or disgusted. Mickey sighed in relief, he was scared that Ian might bolt when he saw the reality of Mickey's life now.

"So listen." Mickey said, kneeling down in front of Luke so they were eye level. "I already sent the money to your account. We're done here, and we never met. You got me?"

Luke just nodded, still clearly out of it. "Whatever you say, man."

"Who am I?" Mickey pressed him. Luke looked legitimately confused for a moment, his eyes darting from Mickey to Ian and back.

"I, um, I don't know." Luke said quietly.

"Where are you right now?" Mickey continued.

"Um, the Ramada?" Luke ventured, eliciting a chuckle from Mickey.

"Sure kid, good deal." Mickey thumped him on the back before helping him to his feet shakily. He led the hooker out of the room, closing the door behind him and sliding the lock shut once more.

"So, that's pretty much it, Ian." Mickey said, flopping down on the bed once more. "As you can see, no one has to get hurt. That kid just made three hundred bucks, and he didn't even have to get naked. Win-win, really."

Ian considered this. He watched Mickey's face as he really thought about all the shit that happened tonight.

Is this what he wanted? Did he want to abandon his life here, go on the run with Mickey like they had planned over a year ago? Leave his family behind, whatever life he had left with them, whatever time he had left to spend with them? Could he do it?

Yeah, yeah he fucking could.

"Okay, Mick." Ian said, a slow smile creeping onto his face.

"Okay?" Mickey echoed, trying to temper his excitement. He had convinced himself that Ian would be stubborn with this. That he'd stick to his weird moral code and want to go out a martyr or something equally stupid. "Oh, Ian. Thank fuck." Mickey sighed, exhaling a breath he'd been holding. "I was so scared you'd turn me down." he beamed at him, before sobering quickly. "But, hey, I don't want you to think I'm doing this just to get back in your pants. If you don't want me like that anymore, that's okay., That's not at all what I'm trying to do here." Mickey's eyes darted across Ian's face, just watching him. God, he still loved him so much, and he'd do anything for him. Mickey had thought that time apart, knowing Ian didn't want him and had moved on would alter his feelings somehow. Kill them, mute them, dilute them. No such luck. He was hooked. Ian was it. And if he couldn't have him, he'd at least take comfort in the fact that he was out there, somewhere, walking the earth. That would be enough for Mickey. It had to be. "I'll change you, help you get on your feet in your new life, and then you are free to do whatever you want, okay? You're not gonna owe me anything. I just want you alive." Mickey ran a hand over his mouth, clearly angry with himself for his verbal diarrhea.

Ian always turned him into an emotional mess. Apparently dying didn't change that shit.

Ian, for his part, was totally appalled with what Mickey had just said. "You really believe that shit?" he asked, reaching up to run his fingers through Mickey's hair. "You really think that after I finally have you back, I'd let you go again?"

Mickey's brow furrowed in confusion "What are you saying, Ian?" Mickey was confused. When he came down here to offer Ian this chance, he meant what he said. He wasn't doing it to get Ian back, or get back in his good graces. He just wanted Ian alive and in the world, even if it's not with him.

"I'm saying I love you, Mick. I'm saying I've been haunted by your ghost long before you supposedly died. I'm saying I regret leaving you, I regret all the times I left you. I'm saying that if you'll have me back, I'll never let you go again." Ian sighed, feeling tears welling up in his eyes again. He didn't try to stop them this time. He let them flow freely down his face and left himself completely open and vulnerable. All his fears and regrets laid bare for Mickey to witness.

Mickey cleared his throat, feeling a lump of emotion welling up there. It was as if all the things he ever wanted were coalescing into this one moment.

Go figure he'd have to die to get the life he'd always wanted.

"It's not going to be easy, Ian." Mickey said, instead of addressing his declaration of love. "You're going to have to leave this all behind, no note, no nothing. Your family will think you've run off again. They'll think you're out in the world, manic and alone, dying of cancer. Are you sure you're ready to do that to them?" Mickey didn't want to bring this shit up, but Ian needed to go into this with his eyes wide open. He didn't want to change him, and have Ian resenting him for all eternity.

Ian sighed, rolling away from Mickey to lay on his back and stare at the ceiling. Did he want to leave his  family, with no indication of where he went or what happened to him? No. That was one of the biggest reasons he didn't go with Mickey the first time.

But this shit is different.

Ian is dying. He'll be leaving his family one way or the other. He doesn't like the idea of them wondering what happened to him forever, but he doesn't see any other option.

Maybe once he's in Mexico he can convince Mickey to let him contact them. Once it is safe, of course.

Ian doesn't really see another option. He's not ready to die. And he's certainly not ready to let Mickey go again.

"Mick, I'm not saying it's going to be easy." Ian conceded. "I'm going to miss the hell outta my family. And it's going to be hard knowing they are looking for me, or think I'm dead somewhere. But I really don't have any other options. I don't want to die." the last sentence was just barely above a whisper.

Ian didn't want to die.

Mickey nodded, scooting over on the bed and pulling Ian into his arms. "I know. I'm sorry this is all I can do for you." he said against Ian's hair. "I wish I could just fix you up and send you on your way. But I'm a vampire, not a miracle worker."

Ian nodded against Mickey's chest, squeezing his middle. "So does this mean that we're going to be damned then? Like hell shit?"

Mickey chuckled. "Since when do you believe in that shit?"

"Don't." Ian replied. "Just makes me wonder, y'know."

"Maybe, maybe not." Mickey said, running his fingers along Ian's spine. Each knob of bone was so pronounced, it was frightening. "But think of it this way: we've been pretty much damned since we were born, right? Shit has never gone right for us. We've suffered and suffered for years. Nothing is ever easy, just an endless stream of shit, right?. So what if this is the opposite of being damned?"

Ian considered Mickey's words as he lost himself in the feeling of just being close to him again. He had a point.

With the way his life has gone, Ian may as well be damned already.

What does he have to lose?

"Alright." Ian said, burring his face in Mickey's chest. "How do we do this shit?"

 

***

 

Ian didn't think when he agreed to let Mickey change him, that it would happen that very night. He thought he'd have more time, thought he'd be able to get his affairs in order, at least see his family one more time.

But Mickey had insisted that they needed to do it this way. His time in the States was very limited, and he was still very much a wanted man, undead demon spawn or not. So Ian had to either get on board, or go his own way.

In the end, Ian knew that there really was no decision to make. His body was dying more by the second, and time was of the essence.

Besides, he'd been ready to do it once before, and the stakes hadn't been nearly as high that time. He was certain that this was the right thing to do, now. It probably was last time, if he hadn't let his fears and insecurities hold him back.

That's how he found himself naked, in a tub full of expensive bubbles, Mickey tucked behind him, arms wrapped around his chest. There was soft music coming from Mickey's phone on the bathroom vanity. That same song that was playing at the house hours before.

Deftones. Change.

God, it felt like a lifetime ago now.

"You know," Ian said, running his hands through the suds surrounding them. "This is probably the most romantic thing you've ever done for me. Leave it to you to save it for my death."

"Ha ha." Mickey deadpanned, his fingers stroking Ian's ribs under the water. "I just want you to be comfortable." he murmured. "My change was scary and violent. I don't want you to have that memory in your head forever."

Ian smiled, closing his eyes as Mickey's hands skimmed his torso under the water. The gentle, melodic music filtered through his head as he did his best to relax into the moment.

 

"I watched a change in you

It's like you never had wings

Now you feel so alive

I have watched you change

And you feel alive

You feel alive"

 

The water splashed around them, Mickey's hands were everywhere. Fingers running through Ian's hair, brushing against his collar bone, sliding down his hip, along his thigh.

"I wish we could fuck first." Ian mumbled, reaching back with one hand to run his pruny fingers through Mickey's damp hair. "I just wanna feel you one more time."

"We'll have plenty of time for that later." Mickey assured him. Ian's cock was hard and ready, bobbing in the water just inches from Mickey's hand, but Ian was so fucking sick, Mickey would feel like the worst kind of pervert if he tried to fuck him right now.

"Yeah, but I won't be the same anymore. This is the last time I can fuck you as a regular dude." Ian whined, eliciting a smile from Mickey. Mickey tenderly kissed the side of Ian's head before resuming his slow exploration of his body with his fingers.

"It still wouldn't be like it was before." Mickey reminded him. "Cuz I'm not the old me anymore."  


Ian sighed, nodding as he closed his eyes. Mickey had a point. Nothing was ever going to be like it was before. That ship has long since sailed. It's time to leave the past in the past, and move on to the future.

"Okay. How do we do this?" Ian finally asked, turning slightly so he could look into Mickey's eyes. Mickey was giving him this soft, loving look that Ian would have killed for when they were kids.

At the moment, however, it just solidified the fact that things were very much wrong, and Mickey was about to, in fact, end Ian's natural life.

"It's really not all that complicated." Mickey replied, curling his hand around Ian's body and pulling him tight against his chest. "It's kind of like you see in the movies, but not quite. I'll bite you, drain you to the point of death." Mickey paused when Ian tensed. It must be strange to have such a violent act explained in such a casual manner. Mickey hadn't had the luxury of knowing, though, when Lucius changed him. It all just kind of happened to him, and it was fucking terrifying. So he wanted Ian to have all pertinent information before he agreed to let Mickey do this to him. "Then I'll bite myself, and you'll use whatever remaining energy you have to drink from me. Pretty straight forward exchange of bodily fluids." Mickey chuckled, tickling Ian's side a little until the latter was squirming. "Once the infected blood is in you, it will start the change." Mickey paused, laying another small kiss to Ian's hairline. "You'll get real sick, they'll be some serious fucking pain. Then you'll pass out. That's what happened to me, from what little I remember. Once you wake up, you should be ravenous. I mean, really fucking hungry. Well, thirsty, I guess is a better word." Mickey trailed off awkwardly.

"I know what the word means Mick." Ian huffed a little laugh, trying his best to keep his anxieties at bay. The idea of being thirsty for human blood was a little off putting. It was just so fucking out there. Ian just can't imagine it, even though he just watched Mickey feed not even an hour earlier. "Quite the vocabulary on you now."

"You like that? I'm learning all kinds of shit. You just wait, Gallagher. You'll see." Mickey said, and Ian could hear the smile in his voice without even looking.

"So it's really going to hurt?" Ian pressed after a moment of quiet contemplation.

Mickey shrugged, sloshing water around them. "I mean, you're dying, Ian. It's gonna hurt a little. But I won't be rough with you like Lucius was with me. You know I'm gonna do my best to make  it easy for you, Ian. I don't ever want to hurt you again." Mickey uttered the last bit so quiet, Ian almost missed it.

"Okay." Ian finally said, tightening his grip on Mickey's arms that were still slung around his middle. "I'm ready." he breathed. "Do it."

The finality of the sentence was too much in the quiet bathroom. Ian could feel fresh tears stinging his eyes as he heard Mickey exhale behind him.

Mickey doesn't say another word. The time for talking is over now. His hand crept up into Ian's hair, his fingers gripping tight as he pulled  Ian's head to the side. He could feel Ian's body tensing, so he ran his free hand soothingly along his stomach. "Try to relax." he murmured, though he knew it was easier said than done.

Ian exhaled a slow breath, nodding his head slightly. He could feel Mickey's nose brushing along his ear. He could hear him inhale deeply, pulling Ian's scent deep into his body.

"I love you, Ian." Mickey whispered against his skin. He pressed a feather light kiss to the base of his neck, running his tongue along the goosebumps popping up there.

"I love you too, Mick." Ian sighed, finally giving in and relaxing fully into the moment. Once Mickey felt the shift in Ian's body, the last remnants of stress seeping out of his muscles, he bared his teeth.

Ian gasped when he felt the sting of Mickey's sharp teeth tearing his flesh. It was the oddest sensation. There was pain, sure, but the wound almost felt numb. Like some sort of anesthetic was coursing through Mickey's saliva and into Ian's gaping neck wound. Almost instantly Ian started feeling dizzy. The cancer had made him weak as it is, and this crazy day had taken a toll on him. Before he knew it, his vice-like grip on Mickey's arm was slipping, and his eyes were growing heavy.

Mickey didn't let go. He held Ian tight to his chest as he drank from him. Ian tasted fucking delicious, even with the narcotics coursing through his veins and the cancer eating him away inside, his blood was the most glorious thing to ever pass Mickey's lips. He tasted like ginger, which was ironic, and something citrisy. Whatever it was, it was fucking delectable, and Mickey couldn't get enough. Of course Ian would be the best thing he ever tasted.

Mickey should have known.

He forced himself to stop before things got out of hand. It would be all too easy to drain Ian, especially in his weakened state. He forced his lips off Ian's neck and jostled him. There was blood in the water now, tinging the whole pool a strange pink, creating quite the macabre scene. "Ian, c'mon man. You gotta drink." he said, quickly tearing into his wrist with his teeth until the blood flowed freely and pressing the wound to Ian's lips. "C'mon, man." he urged.

Ian's head was swimming. He could barely open his eyes. But he could smell. And the smell of Mickey's blood was mouthwatering. Coppery and peppery, however that's possible. He opened his mouth and allowed Mickey to press his wrist between his lips. He sucked hard. The feeling of blood pooling in his mouth was strange at first, but his intense thirst overpowered all that. He swallowed and sucked, tendrils of blood leaking out of his mouth and dripping down his chin, adding to the pink water they were soaking in. He drank and drank until Mickey had to pull him off with a harsh fist in his hair.

"Enough, Ian. Jesus." Mickey whispered, and Ian could hear the pain in his voice.

He may have gone overboard.

"Sorry." he said. He opened his mouth to say more, but Mickey cut him off. 

"C'mon, we gotta get you outta the tub before the sickness settles in."

Ian nodded, already feeling a little queasy.

He let Mickey pull him out of the tub and rinse off the bloody water before wrapping him in a plush towel and leading him over to the bed. They got under the covers naked and just laid there, holding each other until Ian started to change. Mickey ran a hand down Ian's gaunt face, dreaming of the moment it would be full and healthy looking again. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Ian's, sighing into his mouth as Ian sluggishly tangled his tongue with Mickey's. Mickey could still taste his own blood on Ian's tongue, and the taste got him perversely hot. He's not sure if that's because he's a vampire now, or if he's just a kinky bastard where Ian is concerned.

It doesn't really matter. Ian is going to be okay now. Ian is going to be with Mickey now. Everything and anything else doesn't matter.

Ian groaned, clutching his stomach and curling into himself. Mickey shuffled closer, pulling Ian's trembling body against his chest.

"I know." Mickey whispered. "It's gonna be okay, I'm right here. Not going anywhere, ever again, okay?"

Ian didn't answer, he just shook and cried as painful muscle spasms wracked him as his body died.

Mickey knew he was in for a world of pain, but he was certain for once, that there was something better for both of them on the other side of the agony.

 

***

October 30th, 2020

The room is awash in an ethereal glow, aided by the dozens of black pillar candles strews across the bay window sill and the long bureau against the wall. The balcony door is open, and a cool breeze is passing through the door, stirring the gauzy curtains. The full moon hangs heavy is the sky just beyond the window, casting shadows along the floor and walls of the room.

The Gothic decor adds a certain ambiance to the space, creating a haunted atmosphere that Ian feeds off.

Dia de los Muertos is one of his favorite days of the year now.

"I don't usually do threesomes." the twink said as he stripped down to his boxers, and Ian almost rolled his eyes. He had heard that same shit a year ago to the day from some other random hooker. It felt like another life, back in Chicago. It was another life. That is all a distant memory now. North Wallace Street, being an EMT, dying of cancer. That was his first life.

This is his life now.

"It's your dime, dude." Mickey shrugged, pulling his tight black t shirt over his head before moving to strip his pants. "You don't wanna make three hundred bucks? There's the door."

Ian watched from his spot next to Mickey on the bed. He was already naked, stroking his cock as he waited for the hooker to make up his mind.

They all agreed in the end. So this little dance was just a formality really.

Ian was surprised by how easily he acclimated to his new life. Leaving his family hadn't been as hard as he anticipated. A few months after he left, he contacted them. They were livid at first, obviously, but once they realized he was dead set on not coming back, they had accepted it, they had no other choice. They thought he was in Sedona, getting holistic treatments for his leukemia. The Vortexes, like Shelia and Jody had said, all those years ago. The thought made Ian chuckle.

But in the end, he was an adult, and they had to let him go, albeit begrudgingly. He talks to them regularly now, always promising he'll come visit.

He's not sure how honest he's being when he makes those promises.

This is where he wants to be. With Mickey.

"I'm Devin." the hooker smirked. Now naked, he crawled into bed between Ian and Mickey. "What should I call you guys?"

"Don't worry about it." Mickey dismissed. "You don't need to know our names to do what we wanna do."

"Whatever you say." The kid rolled his eyes. "So how do you wanna do this?"

Ian smiled over at Mickey, who was giving him that stunner smirk, raised eyebrows and all.

"You wanna try, Gallagher?" Mickey asked cryptically.

"You think?" Ian asked, his eyes lighting up.

"Go for it tough guy. You've been practicing." Mickey chuckled. He grabbed his own dick, watching his boyfriend crawl on top of the unsuspecting hooker.

When Mickey had first gone back to Chicago to try and save Ian, he wasn't sure how it was gonna pan out. Even if Ian agreed and let Mickey change him, would he actually stay with Mickey? Did he still love Mickey? Would they be able to make a life together, both of them undead monsters who fed on blood to survive? They could barely have a normal relationship when they were just a couple of poor kids from the hood.

But once they got back to Mexico, it was like everything fell into place for them. Mickey's crew of gay gangbangers had accepted Ian into the fold easily. Ian fell back into the hustle with little issue, it was in his blood after all. Ian was starting to hound Mickey about making money another way, even though risk of arrest or death was nearly impossible for them now. Mickey isn't sure what Ian's grand plan is, but he wouldn't put it past him to come up with some insanely clever alternative to their current life of crime.

Ian's always imagined something better for them, Mickey supposes that wouldn't go away just because he's technically not human anymore.

Mickey watches with wide eyes as Ian pushes Devon the hooker down onto the middle of the mattress.

The kid's good looking enough. Clearly American, with his cropped blond hair and hazy blue eyes. Mickey found him on a website, the way he finds most their meals these days. It's safer than grabbing someone off the street, or feeding in public. Mickey can tell Ian wants to go out 'hunting', but so far, he's kept him safe and feeding indoors.

Who knows how long that'll last. Ian always gets what he wants in the end.

"Close your eyes." Ian says in his most authoritative voice. Devon complies immediately and Mickey's heart swells. The mind control lessons had been difficult for Ian to grasp. He had a hard time letting go of his misgivings and believing he could do it. For whatever reason, confidence was key to getting into someone else's head. "Good, Devon." Ian purred.

Mickey shuffled closer to the prone man, picking up one of his hands and running his fingers down his arm. He watched as Ian leaned over the boy's body, his mouth hovering just above his pulsing jugular.

Devon's breath hitched as Ian's lips ghosted over his neck. "Now just relax." Ian murmured as he sunk his teeth into the unsuspecting boy's throat.

Mickey smiled as he watched Ian feed. Devon's eyes slipped closed and a low moan slipped past his lips. He gasped as Mickey bit into his wrist, taking his fill as well. Kid tasted funny. Like meth, maybe. Mickey hated feeding off drug addicts, but hookers were the easiest marks, less hassle if things went wrong.

Which is what happens tonight.

It's Mickey's fault, really. Ian is still pretty new at this, and doesn't have the same control Mickey has honed over the past two years.

Mickey is lost in feeding. The blood pumping out of the wound in Devon's wrist, flowing into his mouth and down his throat. He growls, pulling the arm closer and sinking his teeth in deeper, tearing the flesh as he pulls more and more blood from the gash.

By the time he's had his fill, he pulls off and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing crimson all over his face. He glances up at Ian, who's face is still buried in Devon's neck. Blood is pooled around the kid's body on the bed and Mickey can tell right away that the kid is on death's door. He pulls on Ian's shoulder, but the other man is not moved. The only thing Mickey gets for his effort is a muffled growl.

"Ian!" he yelps, pulling hard on Ian's shoulder. Ian sits up, dazed and shocked at his own animalistic behavior. His wide eyes land on Mickey and his face falls.

"Mick..." Ian's eyes dart wildly from Mickey to the hooker. Back and forth. He jerks backwards, tumbling off the mattress and landing on the floor in a bloody heap.

"Hey, hey." Mickey soothes, crawling over Devin's unconscious body to get to Ian. He grabs him up, cradling him in his arms. "None of that." he whispers, gently running his tacky fingers through Ian's hair. "C'mon now."  
  
"Is he dead?" Ian whimpers, not daring to look up to the body splayed out on their bed.

"Nah, he's not. Listen. Closely."

Ian holds his breath, tilting his head to the side as his tries desperately to hear something.

"Focus, Ian." Mickey murmurs, just above a whisper.

Ian closes his eyes, focusing intently.

Then he hears it.

The faint beating of Devin's heart.

"Oh, thank fuck." Ian sighs. In the short time he's been a vampire, he's killed two men. It was an accident, both times. He'd never meant to go that far. It's so easy to get lost in the blood lust of the moment. The crimson liquid flowing down your throat, electrifying your veins. It's the best high he's ever experienced.

But the aftermath is devastating. Having the literal blood of another human being on his hands is the worst feeling Ian's ever experienced. He thought his Bipolar swings were the most painful thing he'd ever have to deal with, but now that that affliction is gone, he is confronted with a much worse one.

Being a murderer.

"Call Adia." Ian says, moving into action quickly. He runs to the bathroom, grabbing a towel and the first aid kit, He holds the towel against the wound in Devin's neck, applying pressure. His EMT training kicked in as he went about stopping the bleeding as best he could.

Mickey rolls his eyes, but moves away from the body to grab his phone and dial Adia's number.

Adia is a friend of theirs they met at the club one night while out with the boys. Pretty Canadian girl, living in Mexico city after finishing college. Classic hot chick, long black hair, almond shaped green eyes, tall and lean with a killer body. Guys were always fawning all over her, and the friendlier she became with Ian and Mickey, the more the task fell to them to get rid of the riff raff.

Not that Mickey minds. Kicking ass is still fun, even if he's got an unfair advantage these days.

There was one thing about Adia that Mickey didn't like so much, however. She was kind of a groupie. She'd somehow figured out what they were, singling Ian and Mickey out from the other gay hustlers and gangsters in the club, and somehow pegging them as vampires. It had been unnerving and Mickey was wary at first, convinced she was some kind of monster hunter, maybe with the Catholic church. He still had no idea how she figured it all out. Bitch was smart as hell, even if it pissed him off sometimes.

Come to find out, she did have an ulterior motive in befriending them. She wanted one of them to change her. God only knows how she learned so much about the supernatural. But she was frienly enough, kept their secret, and came in handy more than once, as an ER nurse with lots of connections, and even more discretion.

Mickey's not stupid. He knows one day Adia is gonna come to collect on all these favors. He just hopes tonight is not that night.

"Hey guys." Adia smiles as she lets herself into their apartment. "Looky looky." she smirks, taking in the scene of a partially dressed Devin sprawled along the living room floor, bloody towel draped across his neck. "Get a little carried away?"

"Shut the fuck up, Adds, just take him outta here, please." Mickey groaned, slipping his hand around Ian's waist to steady him. Ian still had that tight, stricken look on his face, obviously riddled with guilt.

The two men watched on silently as Adia checked Devin's vitals and took a look at his wrapped wounds. She reached up with one hand, lifting one eyelid, then the other. Her eyes trailed down Devin's bare arms, taking in the litany of track marks visible.

"Hey guys, I wouldn't worry to much." Adia smiled up at them from the floor. "Looks like this little tweaker OD'd." she glanced quickly over at Ian. "You guys didn't do anything wrong. And he's gonna be fine." she stood from the floor, dusting off her jeans. "I'll take him down to the ER in my car, meet you guys at the bar later. You're going, right? Dia Dios Los Muertos, can't miss it." she chuckled. "Bring him downstairs, I'm gonna start the car." and with that she was gone.

"Oh thank god." Ian sighed as soon as she left the room. "I thought I fucked  up again."

Mickey gave Ian a small smile, crowding him against the wall by the door. "It's okay, Ian." he whispered. "I tell you this all the time. We are going to live for hundreds of years, man. We are going to watch people die. Sometimes we are going to be the cause of that death. It's our nature. We can't help but make a few mistakes here and there." Mickey glanced up at Ian with soft eyes, reaching up with one hand, cupping the back of his head. "But none of that shit happened tonight. That kid is gonna be okay. You didn't fucking kill him. Alright?"

Ian nodded, shaking  his head as he sniffled a little bit. He's going to have to develop some kind of thicker skin, if he's going to be doing this for hundreds of years like Mickey says.

His boyfriend is right. No one died tonight. So there's that.

Mickey grabs Ian's hand, leading him back toward the bed. "C'mon, grab his legs. We'll pawn him off on Addie and you can help me clean up this massacre so we can hit the club. I don't wanna be out too late. I got plans for you."

Ian chuckles, grabbing up the soiled towels off the floor as Mickey pulls his jeans back on.

They have a party to get to.

 

***

 

The club is hopping. Completely packed from wall to wall. Costumed bodies undulating to the heart pounding bass. Women dressed in lacy black dresses, men wearing blood red mask and devil horns, patrons with elaborately painted faces. So many skeletons.

Mickey's seen it all before, but he knows this is Ian's first time, so instead of taking in the sights around him, he watches Ian's face. He's got this wide, astonished smile splitting his lips, and his eyes are huge.

Ian runs his fingers along a garland of marigolds hanging low from the ceiling. The whole place has a dark, haunted feel to it that sets Ian's heart racing. Candles burn on every available surface and everywhere he looks, he sees flowers or skulls. Live butterflies hang from glass cases along the walls, lit up by the dancing flames of nearby candles.

 The club smells like sex and flowers, spices mixed with sweat and blood. Mickey can smell each individual person in the packed space, hear their heart beats thudding together, creating a cacophony of sound that makes his mouth water. He glances over at Ian, watching with fond eyes as he takes in the glory that is a real Dia de Los Muertos party.

"I'm gonna get us some drinks." Mickey says, maneuvering Ian over toward their usual table. Ian sits without complaint and Mickey is gone before his ass hits the seat.

By the time he gets back to the table with two tequilas, Jose, Martin and Luis are all there. Adia is also there, sitting at the table with a margarita in her hand. She nods at the boys, a small smirk on her lips, but she says nothing about the chaos at the apartment earlier in the evening.

"Miguel!" Luis bellows, jumping up from his seat and pulling Mickey into a bear hug. "We hit upon some lucrative business earlier. You missed out."

Mickey rolls his eyes. He doesn't need the money right now, and he doesn't really derive the same pleasure from rolling tourists as he used to. Not since Ian got here.

Maybe Ian's right. Maybe there is another way for them to live.

Well, sort of live.

They don't stay long after that. The club gets more and more crowded. Louder, harder to breathe in all the different scents, harder to concentrate around all the pounding hearts and heavy breathing.

"Hey, you ready?" Mickey murmurs against Ian's ear. Ian's deep in conversation with Adia and Jose about some house they are planning to rob once the rich old fucks who own it go back to Oklahoma. "I kinda wanna go."

"You mean you wanna come." Ian teases, winking obnoxiously.

"Yeah, that too." Mickey chuckles, standing from the table to bid farewell to his friends. Ian follows him around the table, shaking hands and giving hugs until they are back on the street and walking back to their shared apartment.

The streets are alive with celebration, even at the late hour as costumed revelers dance their way down the street to the sound of live music emanating from clubs along the street. There are giant sugar skulls hanging from street lamps and huge oil painting on canvas hanging from the various buildings. Skulls and roses and skeletons dancing around bonfires, all laid out in their surreal cartoon glory. Mickey passed no less than six men dressed as mariachis, complete with sombreros and painted skull faces.

Mexico is so colorful. So vibrant and alive. Undulating with a decadent pulse of vitality and energy.

It was all very ironic. The entire neighborhood vibrating with life, while celebrating the dead, all while Ian and Mickey walked among them, the living dead themselves.

Finally coming upon their apartment, Ian let them in and Mickey followed him up the narrow staircase to their small third floor space.

Once the door was locked behind them, Mickey was on Ian. He shoved him up against the door, his back hitting the wood with a resounding thud as Mickey slid his hands under his tight t-shirt, raking his blunt fingernails down his rib cage as he nipped at his neck.

Ian groaned, banging his head against the door as Mickey bit into his flesh, the searing pain as Mickey's razor sharp teeth pierced his skin getting him rock hard in an instant. Mickey pulled back, darting his tongue out to lap at the small rivulet of blood trickling out of the wound. His mouth watered at the combined taste of sweat and blood.

Ian's hand shot up and his fingers twisted in Mickey's hair, pulling tight as he dipped his head down to capture his lips in a torrid kiss. Mickey hissed as Ian's fingers dragged his head back sharply as his tongue plunged into his mouth.

Mickey dipped his hands into the back of Ian's jeans, gripping his ass roughly and grinding their hard cocks together. Ian moaned into the kiss, biting at Mickey's lips as they made out frantically.

Ian's hands traveled down Mickey's sides, gripping his hips tightly before shoving him backwards, sending him careening further into the apartment. Mickey laughed breathlessly as he stumbled backward toward the couch, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor carelessly. Ian did the same, revealing his wide, heaving chest.

Mickey's eyes wandered Ian's bare torso as his fingers fumbled with the fly of his jeans. God Ian was so fucking sexy. All ripped muscles and pale, freckled skin.

And now he'd always be gorgeous. Neither time, nor illness would ever touch the love of his life ever again. Ian was free. Ian was Mickey's. Ian was forever. The thought always made Mickey's head spin.

Ian stalked him across the living room, that predatory glint in his eye as he kicked his shoes off and reached down to unzip his pants. He shed the clothing quickly, stepping out of his jeans and leaving them in a puddle by the couch.

By the time he got his hands back on Mickey where they belonged, they were both naked. The feeling of Mickey's bare skin under his fingertips sent a thrill up his spine. Mickey sighed as Ian's hands roamed his body, sliding up his chest, around his back, and down to his thighs. He cupped his ass with both hands, pulling their bodies flush together.

"Happy Halloween, Mick." Ian whispered into his lover's mouth, pushing his tongue past his lips as he kissed him breathless.

Mickey laughed, rolling his eyes. He doesn't remember if Ian was always into Halloween, but it's his favorite time of year now.

With good reason.

"Happy Halloween, fire crotch." Mickey whispered against Ian's mouth, nipping at his bottom lip before plunging his tongue into his mouth once more. Ian gasps when Mickey breaks the kiss, burying his face in Mickey's neck as Mickey walked Ian backwards until his back hit the wall, forcing a grunt out of his mouth. Mickey smirked at him, kissing him one more time before sinking to his knees. Ian watched his movements with wide, lust blown eyes as Mickey gripped his aching erection in one hand, pumping it slowly. He locked eyes with Ian above him as he opened his mouth and swallowed him down.

"Ah fuck." Ian sighed, watching Mickey suck him off with rapt attention. Mickey bobbed his head enthusiastically, hollowing his cheeks and sucking hard before drawing back to lap at the leaking  slit, before plunging down again. He pulled off slowly, dragging his lips along the shaft, staring up at Ian, licking his lips as he jerked him off lazily. "Taste good." he murmured, dipping his head back down to take him in deep once more.

Ian moaned, threading his fingers through Mickey's hair as he rolled his hips gingerly. God, Mickey was driving him wild. His mouth was hot and tight, his lips soft and wet. The slide of his tongue, the tiny scrape of his teeth. All of these sensations melting together to take Ian apart.

When Mickey relaxed his throat and took Ian impossibly deeper burying his face in Ian's pubes, Ian's sight cut out for a moment. He closed his eyes, feeling dizzy with pleasure.

"Up, up." Ian mumbled, hooking his hands under Mickey's armpits and lifting him off the floor like a rag doll. Mickey smirked at him, wiping his messy mouth with the back of his hand. He didn't say anything, just waggled his eyebrows as Ian grabbed at him roughly, whipping his body around and plastering his chest to the wall, like he was waiting for Ian to frisk him. Ian came up behind him, kicking his feet apart and pressing his body against Mickey's back. The hard, heavy length of Ian's cock pressed between his ass cheeks, sending a shiver of anticipatory pleasure shooting down his spine.

"You tryin' to end this before it begins, Mick." Ian chuckled, running his tongue along Mickey's bare shoulder and up his neck. He sucked gently on the sensitive skin behind his ear, grinding his erection teasingly against Mickey's round ass.

"Not my fault you can't maintain for shit." Mickey retorted, pushing his ass back, desperate for more friction. Desperate for more everything.

"Oh really?" Ian laughed. "We'll see who can't maintain." he said, laying a hard slap to Mickey's ass, causing the other man to hiss and arch his back, a silent invitation.

Ian sank unceremoniously to his knees behind Mickey, gripping his ass with both hands and spreading him wide. Ian moaned at the sight of Mickey's glorious ass, presented just for him. From the perfectly symmetrical alabaster mounds, to his hole clenching in anticipation. The sight made Ian's mouth water.

A desperate little whine slipped past Mickey's lips, totally unbidden, spurring Ian into action. He leaned forward, sinking his teeth into the meat of Mickey ass, his own cock throbbing at the pleasured grunt from the man above him. Ian dipped his head down, lapping voraciously at Mickey's ass. He ran his tongue in wide, slow circles before pointing the muscle to delved deeper and deeper.

"Fucking hell." Mickey moaned, pressing his forehead to the wall as Ian ran his tongue over his opening hungrily. He backed off just enough to suck two fingers into his mouth, running his tongue between the digits quickly before going back to eating Mickey out, adding his fingers to the mix, stretching him open.

"Ah....oh fuck." Mickey sighed, thrusting back against the intrusion. Ian was destroying him with his mouth. His tongue and his fingers worked in tandem, electrifying him down to his very bones. "Now. Ian. Get up here." Mickey grit out, reaching behind himself and fisting Ian's hair hard. Ian chuckled breathlessly against Mickey's wet, stretched hole, delivering one more deep open-mouthed kiss to Mickey's ass before surrendering to the pull of his lover.

He surged to his feet, as Mickey spun around, wrapping his arms around Ian's shoulders. Ian reached down, pulling one of Mickey's thighs up high to rest on his hip as the rutted against each other. Ian laughed as Mickey struggled to hitch his leg higher and higher. Ian leaned back far enough to spit in his palm, reaching down to slick up his dick while his other hand held Mickey's leg at a sharp angle. Once his erection was as slippery as he could get it, he set it against Mickey's rim and slid inside.

"Fuck." Mickey groaned, the word coming out slurred and sloppy. "Ian."

Ian shifts his hips from side to side, burying himself to the hilt. He doesn't move at first, giving Mickey a moment to adjust. Vampire or not, their bodies still work the same way. Ian needs to be careful. He doesn't want to hurt Mickey. Ever again.

"Ian." Mickey's voice is still wrecked. His fingers dig into Ian's shoulders as he pushes up one his toes on his left foot, trying to get closer still.

"Jump up." Ian says suddenly, thrusting shallowly as Mickey writhes on top of him. Pressed  up against the wall, Mickey gives him a curious look. "Trust me." Ian says, raising his eyebrows.

Mickey rolls his eyes, but does what Ian asks. He kicks off the floor, wrapping his legs around Ian's waist. The new angle lets Ian slip even deeper inside, and they groan simultaneously.

Being a vampire has many benefits, one of which being incredible strength. So it's no issue for Ian to hold Mickey up, arms twined under his thighs as he surges inside him. Mickey hooks his feet together being Ian's back, surrendering to the onslaught. He closes his eyes, tucking his face into Ian's neck as his lover pounds into him. His back hits the wall over and over,  shaking the whole room. Some framed photos of Ian's family go crashing to the floor, glass shattering. Ian grunts, snapping his hips harshly, his fingernails digging into the flesh of Mickey's ass as he fucks him hard.

Mickey yelps when Ian hits his prostate. His vision goes white as pleasure shoots straight up his spine. He kicks his feet free of Ian's hold, planting them against the wall and pushing with all his strength, shoving off the wall and sending them both careening to the floor. Mickey lands on top of Ian with a resounding thud. Ian groans, his hands flexing where they still sit on Mickey's ass.

"What the fuck was that?" Ian asks, opening his eyes to see Mickey grinning impishly above him.

"Shut it." Mickey replies succinctly, reaching behind himself for Ian's dick, which had slipped out during their fall to the floor. He placed it against himself again, wiggling around until it slid back inside. Mickey wasted no time. He grabbed Ian's wrists, pinned them above his head as he started rolling his hips at a blistering pace, thrusting down on Ian's throbbing cock with fervor.

"Oh yeah, shit." Ian sighed, staring up at Mickey with a mixture of unbridled lust and endless adoration in his eyes. "Fucking love it when you ride me like this." his hips jerked up at the words, sending jolts of pleasure through Mickey's body.

"Yeah you do." Mickey grinned, circling his hips slowly before resuming his rapid pace. He bounced in Ian's lap, head thrown back in pleasure. He released Ian's wrist in favor of dragging his  finger nails down Ian's chest, leaving angry red lines in their wake, small rivulets of blood seeping to the surface. Mickey dipped his head down, lapping up the crimson liquid with a pleased moan. Ian hissed, his hands flying up so he could grip his hips firmly as he thrust up into that tight heat.

"Fucking take it." Ian growled, feeling that familiar tightening in his gut. "Take it so good, Mick."

"Ian." Mickey moaned out, his head thrown back in pleasure as he bounced on top of his lover. "Can I?" he gasped as Ian's fingernails tore at the taught skin of his hips, leaving marks of their own.

"Yeah." Ian gasped, his body bowing off the floor. "Fucking do it."

They don't do this much. It can get messy, and both of them get worked up into such a frenzy. But it feels right tonight.

Mickey brings his own wrist to his mouth, biting into the flesh harshly until his mouth starts to fill with blood. He gasps at the sensation, lowering his wrist down to Ian's lips as he grabs Ian's wrist with his free hand. He brings Ian's arm closer to his face, still rocking incessantly in his lap, working them both toward orgasm. He sinks his teeth into Ian's skin, delighting in the warm rush of blood that courses out of Ian's wound and into Mickey's mouth. He sighs in contentment as he takes his fill of Ian every way he can.

They are both covered in blood by the time Ian's wrist falls limply to the floor by his head. His other hand snakes up and cups the back of Mickey's head, pulling him down into a torrid, crimson kiss. Their tongues dance outside their mouths, smearing the tacky mess along their lips and chins.

Mickey grunts as Ian surges into him, hitting inside him just right. The whole world boils down to this singular moment. Their bodies moving together, the eternal love they share.

Mickey yelps in surprise when Ian's fist closes around his cock, his tight, sure grip making Mickey's eye roll back.

"I'm gonna come." Mickey whispers against Ian's lips, rolling his hips faster, desperate to drag Ian over the edge with him.

"Fuck, do it then." Ian snarks back, a feral smile splitting his lips. The blood soaked on his lips and tongue is probably the sexiest thing Mickey's ever seen, and he come hard, shooting between their bodies and coating Ian's chest in his release.

"Fucking hot." Ian growls, his arms moving to wrap around Mickey's back, pulling their bodies flush together as he fucks up into Mickey's quivering body twice more before stilling deep inside. He sinks his teeth into Mickey's neck as he comes, filling him up with a muffled groan before falling back to the floor in a sated heap.

They lay there for a moment, just holding each other as they come back to themselves. They don't need to catch their breath, or wait for their hearts to slow, but they still need a moment to collect themselves after sharing something so powerful.

Mickey is the fist to move, sitting up on Ian's lap and running a gentle hand down Ian's face. "We need another shower." he sighs, smiling. "Covered in fucking blood again."

"I think it's sexy." Ian muses, running his bloody fingers along Mickey's pale rib cage, leaving a trail of scarlet in his wake. "Red looks good on you."

Mickey scoffs, but he's smiling. If he could blush anymore, he's sure he'd be as red as a tomato. "Get the fuck up." he says instead, standing on unsteady legs and offering a hand to his lover. Ian takes it and they stumble toward the bathroom, eager to wash off the evidence of their interlude and get to bed before the sun rises.

Obviously they could go out in the daylight, that shit was a stupid old wives tale. Mickey didn't even sunburn anymore. But the sun did hurt his eyes, gave him murderous migraines. Besides, it was just easier to hunt at night. Drunk, sloppy people were always easier marks, whether you were planning to rob them, or bleed them.

So yeah, they were night owls these days.

Mickey liked it better that way.

They showered expeditiously, washing each other's hair as the pink water swirled down the drain. Mickey got out first, drying off quickly before Ian shut off the water and stepped onto the cool tile floor.

"Here." Mickey said quietly, running the towel along Ian's shoulders and back.

"Such a gentleman these days." Ian muttered affectionately. He watched Mickey dry him off with love filled heart eyes.

Mickey rolled his eyes, tossing the damn towel in Ian's face and leaving him in the bathroom alone.

By the time Ian made it back to the bed, Mickey was sprawled out on top of it, naked and smoking a cigarette. Ian crawled in next to him, plucking the cigarette out of his fingers and taking a drag before handing it back. He settled more comfortably in the bed, resting his head on Mickey's chest.

It was still strange, not to feel the rise and fall of his breathing, not to hear the soothing thudding of his heart between his ribs, not to feel the goose bumps break out on his skin when Ian kissed him just right.

It was new, and sometimes it was scary, but they were together, and that's all that matters.

After a long moment of silence between the two, after Mickey had smoked his whole cigarette and moved on to carding his fingers gently through Ian's hair, Ian spoke.

"Mick, do you think we're damned?" he asked quietly, hiding his face in Mickey's chest as he spoke.

"What the fuck?" Mickey replied incredulously. "Ian, look at me."

It took a moment, but finally Ian turned his face, his cheek resting on Mickey's stomach, his eyes wide and earnest.

"Do you think we're damned? Like demons? I know you said it was like a virus, but honestly, isn't that what vampires are?" Ian looked so young and innocent as he spoke. Like a scared child. Like the Ian he knew in another life. "Or, like haunted? Evil, blood sucking phantoms?"

"Fuck no." Mickey scoffed. He shimmied down the bed until he and Ian were laying face to face, arms twined around each other tightly. "Where is this even coming from? Have you been thinking this the whole time?" Mickey added on quietly. The idea of Ian keeping such dark thoughts to himself sent a chill down his spine. Reminded him too much of Ian before. Sick Ian, full of secrets and lies.

"No." Ian shook his head lightly against Mickey, staring into his eyes with a mixture of fear and confusion. "I just wonder sometimes. After what happened with that kid tonight...." he let the sentence drop there, letting Mickey fill in the blanks.

Mickey sighed, pulling Ian closer, holding him tighter. "Ian..." he started, unsure where he was going, but knowing his love needed some kind of comfort. "You know when I thought I was haunted? When I wanted you so bad, but knew I couldn't have you. When I was so fucking whipped by my prick father that I'd rather kick you in the face than admit I loved the shit outta you. I was haunted by my own fears, my own bullshit pussy crap. And you were haunted back when you thought angels were sending you coded messages in the damn newspaper. You were haunted by your genetics man. Shit that followed you wherever you went, never giving you a moment's peace." Mickey took a deep breath, leaning back to look into Ian's wide, bright green eyes. "You know when I though we were damned? When you were gone, and I couldn't help you. Couldn't keep you safe. Couldn't keep you healthy. When I had to wonder and worry about your ass twenty four seven. We were damned back in Chicago, with our shit luck and our shittier upbringings. We were damned back then, cuz all we wanted to do was love each other, and we never got the chance, not really."

Ian smiled, biting his lip as he shook his head a little at the emotion pouring out of his lover.

"So..." Mickey said softly, running his fingers through Ian's wet hair. "You asked me if I think we're damned. My answer is no. We were, once upon a time. Damned to a life of pain and hunger and fear. Damned to a life where I couldn't kiss you whenever I wanted. Damned to a life where I was in prison, or constantly running. Damned to a life where you were wasting away to nothing. Damned to a life where you never knew what was real and what wasn't." Mickey took a deep, unnecessary breath, pulling Ian impossibly closer, locking eyes with him. "Now, I think we are blessed. Our life is fucked up, I'll give you that. But this kind of fucked up I can live with. Cuz you're here, and you fucking love me, and I love you. We got each other's backs, and we can handle any stupid shit that comes our way. And nothing bad with ever touch us ever again." Mickey smiled, feeling like a total tool. Busting out emotional monologues was not his strong suit, in this life of the one before. But Ian needed to hear it.

And what Ian needed, Mickey was going to give him.

Ian smiled, and if he could still cry, Mickey knows for a fact he would be right now. "Fuck, Mick." he choked out, pulling the other man close with a hand cupped around the back of his head. The kiss was voracious, all lips and tongue and teeth. Ian growled, rolling on top of Mickey and pinning him to the bed as he straddled his waist. "I fucking love you." he said lowly, dipping his head and burying it in Mickey's neck. He ran his tongue over the scar there, two little pin pricks that started all this. The last of many scars to ever mar the skin of the love of his life.

"You came back for me." Ian murmured into his neck, his voice astonished, as if it were the first time the thought ever occurred to him. "You came back for me, and you saved me."

Mickey flexed his fingers on Ian's neck, gently scrubbing through the short hairs on the back of Ian's head.

"Ian, I couldn't live without you in the world."  Mickey replied softly. "Even if you didn't want me, I had to try."

Ian leaned back, staring down at Mickey with so much love and adoration, Mickey could have sworn his cold, dead heart jumped at the sight.

"I always wanted you." Ian said earnestly, moving to twine their fingers together. "And now I'll always have you."

Mickey smiled up at him, open and free and uninhibited. "Always." he replied, tilting his face up in invitation. Ian leaned over, kissing Mickey softly. He ran his tongue gently along his lips before dipping into his mouth slowly.

Mickey sighed, flexing his hands in Ian's grasp.

They might always be haunted by the past, and some people say their kind is indeed damned for all eternity.

Who the fuck knows?

All Mickey knows is that he can face anything, in any world, in any form, with this man by his side.

Haunted? Sure.

Damned? No fucking way.

Nothing could be anything but perfect, as long as they had each other.

>


End file.
